


What Have We Become

by Batsutousai



Series: Make a Brand New End [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Everyone Gets A Hug, Feemor Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Are Terrible At Relationships, Jedi Families, Nonbinary Character, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Order 66, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Qui-Gon Jinn is Trying, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: One of Feemor's greatest regrets, was that he never had the chance to get to know his brother-padawan, but the Force is willing to give him one more chance. And maybe, if he's lucky, he can finally make amends with his former master and save them all in the process.
Relationships: Feemor & Anakin Skywalker, Feemor & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Feemor & Qui-Gon Jinn, Feemor (Star Wars) & Original Jedi Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Make a Brand New End [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701196
Comments: 192
Kudos: 1560





	1. So Much For 'Ever After'

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I really love time travel fics, especially the fix-it sorts. And while I've seen a lot of characters sent back in time, I don't think I've seen Feemor kicked back, and I, well, I love Feemor. (Okay, let's be fair, he gets a scene in one comic, so really I love his fanon representation, not his canon self, but why quibble over minor characters who we can do _whatever we want with_? XD)
> 
> Fic and chapter titles all comes from Daughtry's _What Have We Become_. Series title is from a quote with an uncertain origin (it's been said in various forms by multiple people): 'No one can go back and make a brand new start, but anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.'
> 
> This fic is _completed_ at five chapters, and will post every other day, with the final chapter going up on 21st April, for those who prefer to read all at once. (There's also a follow-up fic which will post two days after the final chapter. If you follow the series on AO3, you'll get an alert about that and any other additions. If you need an AO3 account, please feel free to let me know; I have plenty of invitations. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This starts shortly before Order 66, so there are a handful of clone OCs running around, and one of them kills Feemor. Warnings for anything and everything that entails, as well as the trauma that comes from spending three years in a war and losing...so many people. Feemor is not okay, but I promise he'll have support and hugs. _Lots_ of hugs.

"General?"

Feemor didn't have to check in the Force to know which of his men had come to find him; their comm specialist spoke with a rather distinctive whistling sound. "What can I help you with, Lieutenant?" he asked without bothering to look up from the requisition requests he was using to excuse the fact he was still awake. (So long as he had paperwork he could wave in their faces, Doc and Pomp would usually let his chronic insomnia go. At least for another night cycle; previous experience said he was approaching too many days in a row without proper sleep, which meant they would soon resort to underhanded methods if he didn't go to one of them, first.)

"General Yoda's on the line for you, sir," Whistle replied.

There was only one reason his great-grandmaster would be contacting him without other members of the Council—and Whistle would have said if it was more than Yoda—and Feemor was up and pushing past Whistle before he could stop himself, almost choking on the thick sense of _not right_ that had been threading through the Force for the past two days, and making his insomnia that much worse.

The troll was awaiting him in the communications tent, his bearing far more relaxed than it had been when he'd comm'd to tell Feemor about Master Yan's death, and Feemor made himself take a deep breath, even as he bowed to the Grandmaster. "Master, is Obi-Wan–?"

_"Well, Obi-Wan is,"_ Yoda promised, and some of the weight on Feemor's chest eased. _"Dead, Grievous is."_

Feemor couldn't quite stop an amused huff. "Of course he is, because far be it for Obi-Wan to fall behind his padawan in the rankings." Not that he really expected his brother-padawan _cared_ about the HoloNet rankings that were keeping track of which jedi unit had killed the most Separatists; he didn't need to have met the man to know that Obi-Wan Kenobi took very little pride in his achievements, especially when it involved a kill-count.

Yoda let out a mild huff himself, his ears twitching in that way that Feemor knew meant he was fighting a smile. _"Over soon, this war will be. Excuses you will no longer have."_

Feemor winced at the reminder—constant and getting less and less subtle as the years went by—that he still hadn't ever introduced himself to Obi-Wan. It was just...well, there had never been a good _time_. Approaching him while he was still Qui-Gon's apprentice had been out of the question—Feemor hadn't actually forgiven his former master for repudiating him until it was too late to make amends—and after Qui-Gon's death, it had just seemed a little too much to go up to his brother-padawan and say, 'I know you've probably never heard of me, but I was Qui-Gon's first padawan, and I'd like to have a relationship with you, now he's not here to sour things'. Anyway, Obi-Wan had had a padawan himself, one who'd needed a lot of hand-holding and managing, according to the Temple gossips, and then Wangui had died on her first mission as a knight and Feemor had needed to leave the Temple to mourn in peace. And then the war had begun and, well. War was no time to try and connect with the brother who likely didn't even know you existed.

_"Good for you both, this connection will be,"_ Yoda reminded him, his voice gone gentle.

Feemor swallowed against the reminder of all the suffering he'd seen over the course of this terrible war, of the things he'd been forced to do to protect his men and the battered and weary survivors that were left behind when the front-line forces had to move on to the next battlefield. He couldn't even _begin_ to imagine the horrors his little brother had haunting his sleep—assuming he was any more able to sleep than Feemor was—especially since, between Temple gossip, HoloNet News reports, and Yoda's updates, Feemor had a pretty good idea of how much Obi-Wan had suffered.

"As soon as we're both back in Temple," he promised, and he fully intended to _keep_ that promise; he hadn't been there for Obi-Wan after Qui-Gon's death, but he could be there now, could be the elder brother he should have been over a decade ago.

_"Meddle, I will,"_ Yoda warned, waving his gimer stick in Feemor's direction.

"And how, exactly, is that different from any other day?" Feemor asked in as dry a tone as he could.

Yoda's ears twitched with amusement, but before he could respond, a Vod's voice from his end said, _"General Windu calling from Coruscant for you, sir. It's marked as priority aurek."_

"May the Force be with you, Grandmaster," Feemor offered, knowing their time for talking was over.

_"And with you, my great-grandpadawan,"_ Yoda returned, and warmth swelled in Feemor's chest at the reminder that at least _one_ person in his lineage was still willing to acknowledge him.

Feemor turned away from the projector as Yoda's image winked out, and found Whistle and his commander, Nehutyc, waiting for him, hope in their eyes. "Good news, sir?" Nehutyc guessed.

"Yes," Feemor promised, reaching out and placing a hand on both of their shoulders, the same way he'd always done for Ace and Wangui when he'd been especially proud of his padawans. "General Kenobi has killed Grievous; with both him and Count Dooku dead, it shouldn't take us long to end this war."

Whistle broke out into a wide grin and said, "That's great, sir!"

Feemor nodded. "It is. But it doesn't mean our job is done; far from it."

"Plenty of clean-up left," Nehutyc agreed, his voice far less grim than it usually was when he talked about how much work there still was to go.

Feemor inclined his head and gave both of their shoulders a quick pat—squeezing had no effect when his men were wearing armour, so he'd had to adapt—then withdrew his hands. "Exactly. But, hopefully, as the fighting dies down, some of the front-line troops will join us in the cleaning up and relief efforts, which should speed things up."

"Ret," Nehutyc muttered, clearly thinking far less of the peaceful capabilities of those Vode who'd spent the war fighting.

Feemor shook his head at his commander's pessimism, but didn't bother starting an argument over it; what would be would be, and Nehutyc would see soon enough that his many brothers were plenty capable of—and probably desperate for, based on some of the transfers they'd received over the course of the war—more peaceful actions. "I'm almost done with the requisition forms, if you wanted to help me finish them up, Commander?"

Nehutyc frowned, casting a quick, studied eye over Feemor, and then he sighed. "Do I need to get Doc, sir?"

Feemor barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I am _fine_ , Commander," he insisted. And then, when neither Nehutyc nor Whistle looked convinced—Whistle's own expression had taken on that worried cast that Feemor suspected Pomp and Doc had been teaching his command personnel in an attempt to make him take better care of himself, or some such—he said, "It's too late in the morning to sleep now, but I _promise_ I'll let them drug me if I can't sleep tonight."

"I'll hold you to that, sir," Nehutyc replied, and Feemor knew he _would_. "Let's see to those forms."

It didn't take them long to finish the requisition forms—not that Feemor had really expected it to—and they headed to the mess tent to get some breakfast after, Feemor allowing a fond smile as Nehutyc tried to be subtle about getting the men on KP duty to add a little extra rations to his tray. (He didn't _think_ he had a problem with not eating enough, but Wangui had often complained that he'd let himself starve if someone wasn't there to mind him, and his commander and medics all seemed to be of the same mind, though they weren't quite as obvious about it as Wangui had been.)

Specs and Prince slid into the seats on either side of Feemor almost as soon as he'd sat down—across from him, Nehutyc's expression switched to that slightly pinched flat stare he seemed to reserve for his two batchmates—and Specs said, in that faux-casual voice he always used when he thought he was being subtle, "I hear the war might be over soon."

"How does it go again?" Nehutyc asked flatly. "Right, 'loose lips sink battleships'."

Specs immediately held his hands up in defence. "Don't shoot the messenger, vod."

Behind Feemor, a couple of Vode let out disbelieving snorts.

Specs turned to scowl at the perpetrators, and probably would have gone off on a rant about respecting superiors—as if he hadn't begged Feemor the first week of their working together to _never_ call him captain again—but Feemor offered, "We can only hope, but with Dooku and, now, Grievous dead..."

"Grievous is dead, then? Not captured?" Prince asked, probably because it wouldn't be the first time they'd captured some ranking member of the CIS, only for them to escape.

"Dead," Feemor promised. "Ob– General Kenobi killed him."

Cheers and laughter filled the tent, and the Force seemed to lighten, just a little.

"Of _course_ it was General Kenobi," Prince said, pride in his voice, and Feemor couldn't say if that was because his men had guessed that he had some sort of relation to Obi-Wan, or just because his brother-padawan had always been at the head of the war and it was hard _not_ to be proud of his bravery and strength.

"Let's not break out the celebratory drinks _quite_ yet," Feemor suggested as the delighted noises around him started to taper off a bit. "It's not like we have a proper cease-fire or peace treaty quite yet, but–"

The Force _screamed_.

"General!" voices called around him, and Feemor thought he felt hands gripping his arms, his shoulders, even as he curled forward, gasping for what air he could draw in past the wave of _agony_ , of lives ending and shredding icy darkness through the warmth of the Force.

Not for the first time, Feemor cursed Qui-Gon for teaching him to love the Living Force; war was no kindness for those who put too much focus towards the side of the Force that connected all living things.

From a distance, he heard a voice that was familiar in the way of those he'd often heard in HoloNet News clips were, say, _"Commander, execute Order Sixty-Six."_

Feemor made himself look up, unfamiliar with that order, and found Nehutyc pulling out his blaster and pointing it at him, his eyes curiously blank. "Wha–?" he started to ask, his voice sounding ruined to his own ears, like he'd been screaming.

The whine of a firing blaster and the flash of energy cut him off. 

BREAK

"Master?"

Feemor blinked his eyes open, and marvelled, for a moment, that he _could_. He'd been fairly certain Nehutyc's blaster had been set to kill, but perhaps he'd been wrong.

"Master Feemor?" the voice came again, one that had once been so precious to him, and he missed dearly.

He raised his head and had a brief moment to take in the familiar stacks of the Temple archive, before he focussed on his second padawan, Wangui. She looked young, younger than he could really remember her looking, her dark hair bushing out in a halo around her head the way she'd worn it when she was trying to emulate Knight Ekundayo Uzoma's rather impressive afro. (She'd had a _terrible_ crush on the young knight, which Feemor had mostly understood—Ekun always had a warm smile for other jedi, and ze had a very charming accent that was easy on the ears—and while he'd been uncertain about the change in hairstyle, he'd found himself agreeing after watching his grandmaster's disgusted expression upon sighting Ekun; it might not be the jedi way, but he was allowed whatever forms of petty revenge against his master and grandmaster as he pleased, so long as the reasoning was kept to himself.)

"Wangui?" he heard himself say as if from a bit of a distance, drinking in the sight of her: The glint of bronze earrings he'd allowed her to get the year after he took her on, the short length of her padawan braid against her shoulder, the dark cord of a necklace she thought he didn't know she always wore half hidden under the collar of her tunic, the concern sparkling in her warm violet eyes. She was so very precious, his padawan, and he had no words for how very grateful he was to the Force for letting her see him again.

Because what else could this be, save some sort of Force-blessed vision? If it was true that they all returned to the Force when they died, of course he would be able to see her again.

Wangui let out the long-suffering sigh she'd mastered almost before her padawan braid was long enough to brush her shoulder. "If you're having trouble sleeping, you're supposed to go to the _Halls_ , not find some boring book in the archives," she informed him, motioning towards the table he'd apparently been resting his head on.

"I wasn't–" Feemor started, even as he glanced down.

An inactive holobook was sat in front of him, the power conservation mode light blinking, letting him know it had almost certainly shut off after being left on a single page for too long. The title, written in unusually blocky Aurebesh type, was, _**How to Impress Gamorreans Into Not Killing You**_. The title suggested an entertaining read, but Feemor recalled it being excessively dry, and something that had, in fact, put him to sleep. He'd picked it out because one of his friends, Roimata, had been assigned a mission there and he'd wanted to know what she was getting into. (The mission had gone a little sideways, but she'd come back alive, if a little banged up.)

He wasn't completely certain why the Force would slot him into a vision—memory?—of this particular moment, but he shrugged to himself a bit and offered his padawan a wry smile. "Sorry?"

She sighed again, rolling her eyes. "You always are," she said, and at least she sounded more resigned than anything else. "Breakfast?"

His stomach let out a rumble of agreement, and Feemor marvelled that this vision let him feel hunger, even as he rose and agreed, "Yes, we had best."

" _I_ am not the one who's always forgetting to eat," Wangui informed him a bit primly.

Feemor coughed to hide a fond chuckle as he picked up the holobook. "Ah, but that's what I have _you_ for, my precious padawan."

Her cheeks flushed a dark plum and she ducked her head, clearly embarrassed.

It was utterly charming, and something she'd managed to train herself out of by the time she'd been knighted—likely because one of Feemor's friends had taken such delight in the colour of her flush—and he was unspeakably grateful to be seeing it again, unexpected a treat as it was.

He put the holobook away on their way out, nodding politely to Jocasta Nu as they passed her desk.

"Finally finished with your nap, Master Feemor?" Jocasta asked in that mild tone she used when she was resisting the urge to chew someone out.

Feemor winced. "I apologise, Madam Nu. I'm afraid the text I was reading was simply...too fascinating to put down."

Her raised eyebrow said she knew he was lying, but she didn't call him on it, leaving him to usher a quietly giggling Wangui from the archives.

They made their way to the refectory, collected some food, and split up, Wangui intent on a couple of her friends at the initiate table.

Feemor slid into the open spot next to Kei Kimura, one of his crèchemates, unmoved by the wide, slightly manic grin he had turned on where his padawan, Marcus Bitmoore, was rather obviously attempting to ignore him. "What have you done to that boy this time?" he asked mildly.

Kei glanced over at him without turning his head. "Nothing the little shit didn't deserve," he insisted.

Feemor very obviously rolled his eyes, then jerked into Kei's arm as Rún Ursu, another crèchemate, slid in next to him, her elbow brushing his arm in that way she'd always done to warn him she was next to him. (He'd not reacted well the first few times he'd suddenly found her next to him with no warning, and the casual elbow brush had been their compromise.)

Rún narrowed her white eyes. "You're jumpy," she said.

"Wasn't expecting you," Feemor insisted.

Her eyes narrowed further. "I told you last night I would see you at breakfast."

"Pretty sure she threatened to sneak into your quarters and wake you with a knife to your throat if you tried sleeping through it," Kei added in the sort of faux casual tone that meant he was trying not to sound worried.

"Ah." Feemor swallowed. "I...forgot?"

Rún straightened in her seat. "You _forgot_ ," she repeated, clearly disbelieving.

Okay, that was fair; Rún was a jedi shadow, and out of the Temple more often than she was in, which meant Feemor had never, not once, _forgot_ when she was in Temple. On the rare occasions she was staying long enough to actually visit with her. "I–"

"Halls of Healing?" Kei suggested.

Feemor shoved his shoulder. "I'm not _sick_!" he snapped, even as he started to wonder what was going on. Rún had died four months before the war, but Kei had still been in the Temple last he'd known; if the Pantoran was here—in the Force, presumably—he should know about the war, same as Feemor. Shouldn't be surprised about him being a little jumpy, not when his last visit to the Temple had involved him drawing his sabre on his crèchemate when one of his pranks had involved a sound that was far too close to close-range blaster fire.

(Kei had apologised, _profusely_ , and actually sounded like he'd meant it, for once. Feemor had spent two of his three days in Temple giving his friend the cold shoulder, before finally making amends two hours before he was due to ship out again, because they were the last two of their group left, and he couldn't stomach the thought of leaving things sour between them.)

"Eat," Rún ordered, motioning towards Feemor's tray.

Grimacing, Feemor ducked his head and did as ordered, certain they would haul him to the Halls if he resisted.

A strained sort of silence fell over the three of them, finally broken after almost five minutes, when Kei cleared his throat and said in a too cheerful voice, "I hear Jinn is due back in Temple this afternoon."

"Oh?" Rún said, a note in her voice that immediately made Feemor suspicious. "Such beneficial timing."

Kei snorted and the nasty twist to his smile reminded Feemor that his two friends had never been willing to let Qui-Gon's repudiating him go; Kei had even told him, after the memorial service they'd had in the Temple, that his greatest regret would always be that he'd never made Qui-Gon's life enough of a hell that he'd apologised to Feemor. "On multiple parts," he agreed. "He and his pretty little padawan apparently got caught in some diplomatic mess on Naboo, had to kidnap a queen or something."

"Why am I–" Rún started.

Feemor's fork clattered against his tray, falling from fingers gone nerveless as Kei's words registered. "Naboo?" he whispered.

Why? Why would the Force make him relive _this_ day? This _week_? This was just...too cruel.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead. "You feel warm," Kei decided.

Rún snorted—it was no secret that Pantorans, like Umbarans, always ran cooler than humans, so he would have felt warm to either of them—and rested a hand on the bottom of his elbow, pushing gently up. "Kei, get the trays," she ordered.

Kei huffed, but didn't actually argue, which said a _lot_ about how worried he was.

Feemor, feeling a bit numb, let Rún direct him out of his seat and towards the exit of the refectory.

"Master Rún?" Wangui called before they could leave the room, an uncertain note in her voice.

"Your master isn't feeling well, little one," Rún explained, her hand gentle on the middle of his back.

Feemor forced a smile for his padawan. "Go back to your friends, Padawan. I'll be fine."

She glanced up at Rún, clearly unwilling to believe him, and his Umbaran friend kindly promised, "I'll have you comm'd if it's something serious."

"Okay," Wangui agreed, before jerking forward and wrapping her arms around Feemor's waist in a hug.

Feemor flinched in surprise—it had been almost a decade since the last time someone had hugged him like that; Kei's hugs tended to come from the side, and almost always involved something nasty getting shoved down the back of Feemor's robes or rubbed into his hair—before wrapping his arms back around his padawan and hugging her tight.

"Purple one!" Kei called in a delighted tone as he joined them.

Wangui turned the most disgusted look in her repertoire on him, gave Feemor one last squeeze, then slipped away to rejoin her friends.

"Was it something I said?" Kei asked, turning an over-done wounded look on Feemor.

"Yes," Feemor replied, but his voice came out sounding a little too flat, and he saw Kei and Rún trade worried looks before Rún's hand pressed against his back to get him moving.

Feemor wished he could pay more attention to their concern, find some way to reassure them he was fine, but his mind was swirling with conflicting thoughts, like why he seemed to be the only one confused about 'current' events. Wangui and Rún knowing what was going on in the...vision? Force afterlife? That made sense, sure, they'd been dead for a while, probably been living this for a while. But Kei had still been alive before the Force screamed—their Force bond would have told him, if he hadn't been—and he'd seen Jocasta Nu when he was in Temple two months ago, so she'd likely been alive still. As had _Obi-Wan_ , since Kei mentioned he would be in Temple with Qui-Gon.

Oh, Force. Did that...did that mean Obi-Wan had been killed? Had his men shot him, too? After finally killing Grievous, finishing off the last of the Separatist's battle leaders? Had it all been for _nothing_?

"Fee?" Kei called, his voice distant-sounding.

"Feemor!" Rún shouted, sounding panicked.

Feemor had a moment to realise the hallway was tilting, before everything went black.

BREAK

He woke to the sound of rapid tapping, ratta-tat-tat-tatta, and didn't bother to open his eyes, just muttered, "Kei, I will stab you with whatever that is if you don't _stop_."

Rún let out an indelicate snort.

Wait, Rún?

"Back in the land of the conscious, my delicate flower?" Kei asked in that sickly-sweet tone that promised _months_ of mocking.

Feemor forced his eyes open, glancing over at where Kei was sitting in one of the Halls' visitor chairs, then over to where Rún was relaxed back against the wall next to the doorway. "What...happened?" he asked. He remembered sitting down to breakfast with his friends, Kei telling them Qui-Gon was due back, Rún insisting he needed to go to the Halls, and then...nothing.

"You fainted," Rún said, her voice tense and her white eyes watching him with concern.

"Master!" Wangui's voice called out in advance of her stumbling into the room and rushing over to stand at the free side of his bed. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and Feemor didn't hesitate to grip the hands that reached out for him.

"Wangui, it's okay," he insisted, squeezing her hands. "I'm _fine_ , I _promise_."

"Well, you're half right," Vokara Che said as she stepped into the room, a datapad in one hand and a capped syringe in the other. "Physically, you're in perfect health. Mentally—excuse me, Padawan Wangui," she said as she set the datapad down on the bed next to Feemor's legs and reached for his nearer arm, which Wangui let her take with only a brief hesitation, "your serotonin and adrenaline levels are a complete mess." She injected the needle of the syringe into the tap of the IV line Feemor actually hadn't noticed in his arm. Then she pinned him with a sharp look as she slipped the syringe into a pocket. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think the current dose of your medication is off. What, exactly, have you been doing, Master Feemor?"

Feemor stared at her for a moment, then looked around at his friends and padawan, taking in the concern in their eyes, the lack of awareness, and had to fight against a rush of disassociation. "What...date is it?" he asked hesitantly.

Rún and Kei traded sharp looks, even as Wangui uncertainly rattled off the date.

Two days before Qui-Gon's death, Feemor recognised a bit helplessly, even as he choked out a slightly shaky laugh. _Was_ this some sort of Force-blessed vision? Or was this—impossibly—a second chance? Some sort of, of _time travel_.

Could he forgive himself if it turned out to be the latter and he didn't even _try_ to save his master? " _Kriff_ ," he cursed.

" _Master_!" Wangui called, sounding torn between being offended and concerned.

He turned to Kei and demanded, "When is Qui-Gon due back in Temple? This afternoon?"

"Jinn?" Kei asked, wide-eyed and clearly shocked, though whether it was by Feemor's cursing—he'd been rather good about minding his language before the war—or the fact that he _cared_ when his former master was going to be there, Feemor couldn't say. "I– Yes? They're supposed to be in system, uh–" he glanced at the closest chrono "–right about now, actually, but they're coming in on a non-Temple shuttle, and they've got people with them? So, it'll probably take a while to get clearance and they're going to have to park at one of the public bays."

"Diplomatic," Feemor corrected, shaking his head; Senat– no, _Queen_ Amidala was who they returned with, as he recalled, which meant they would be landing on a diplomatic pad. And they likely wouldn't have to wait very long to get clearance to enter the travel lanes.

"Diplomatic?" Kei repeated.

"Master Feemor," Master Che cut in, her voice hard. "If you think, for a single moment, that I'm going to just _let you_ stroll out of this ward after you didn't even know the _date_ –"

"I had a vision," Feemor interrupted, trying his best to sound calm and collected, like the jedi master he was, but expecting he just sounded like an exhausted padawan desperate for his master. (Which was, unfortunately, not as far wrong as he wanted it to be.)

"You don't _get_ Force visions," Rún snapped, pushing away from the wall and stalking over to loom over the end of his bed. "That piece of poodoo who trained you did so in the _Living_ Force, not the–"

"That 'piece of poodoo' is going to _die_ if I don't do something!" Feemor shouted.

The room was absolutely silent for a long moment that felt like an eternity.

Kei cleared his throat. "Fee, I'm sure it was just a, a nightmare of some sort. You just need some sleep and for whatever Healer Che gave you to run its course and everything will be fine," he insisted, a forced smile on his face.

Feemor looked between his crèchemates, the healer, and his padawan with a sinking feeling; not a one of them looked like they believed him. They all just thought it was a, a dream or something. Probably related to his karked up neurochemistry.

And maybe they were right? It was true enough that he didn't get Force visions, never had. If _anyone_ in his lineage would have got a true vision of the future, it would have been Yoda. Or Obi-Wan. And either one of them would have been far more capable of _doing something_ about it. He was just... Well, he was just _Feemor_ , the repudiated member of their line. Even Xanatos and Master Yan, both of whom had Fallen, had been more wanted than he was.

He sunk back against the pillows and closed his eyes, feeling suddenly so very exhausted. "Yeah," he whispered. "You're probably right."

A relieved breath filled the room, and Feemor suspected it had come from more than one person.

"I'll let Master Jinn know you were asking about him," Master Che offered, gently patting his leg. "Do you want me to give you something to sleep?"

Feemor immediately shook his head, because he was more than tired enough to get to sleep on his own, and he preferred to only take a sedative when he _needed_ one.

"Very well. The rest of you, let him sleep." She paused for a moment, then added, "Padawan Wangui, I'm certain you should be in classes right now."

"But my master–" Wangui started, fear in her voice.

"Needs to sleep," Master Che said in a soothing voice. "You'll do him no good by standing here and bleeding anxiety into the Force."

"I'll walk you to your class," Rún offered in a rush. "And I'm sure you'll be notified if anything happens."

"Of course," Master Che agreed.

Small hands curled around his own, and Feemor opened his eyes to offer his padawan a tired smile as he squeezed her hand. "Go to class, Padawan. I promise I'll be doing nothing more interesting than sleeping."

Wangui chewed on her lower lip for a moment, fingers twitching around his hand, before giving an uncertain nod. "Okay," she agreed, and reluctantly let him go, turning and walking over to where Rún was waiting for her.

"Knight Kimura?" Master Che asked, her tone pointed.

"Go work on whatever punishment you're plotting for Marcus," Feemor suggested, closing his eyes again.

Cool fingers wrapped around his wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'll tell you all about it later," Kei promised.

Feemor let out a huff. "That poor boy."

Kei's snort was a little strained. "He gives as good as I do."

"Defence mechanism," Feemor insisted.

Kei's snort was a little easier that time, like Feemor's quick rejoinder had soothed him somehow. He gave Feemor's wrist another gentle squeeze, then let go. "I'll be back later, Fee."

" _Joy_ ," Feemor deadpanned, and was able to track Kei's retreat as much by his cackling as by his Force presence.

In the silence of his empty room, Feemor opened his eyes again and stared up at the darkened ceiling; someone had politely turned out the lights for him.

"A nightmare," he whispered to himself and closed his eyes.

In truth, he didn't know _what_ it was any more.

BREAK

_It's the smell that hits him first, burnt flesh and decomposing bodies; clearly, the Republic team had been in too much of a rush to get to their next engagement to take the time to collect their dead. Or have any bother for the Separatist dead. (Just because their main fighting force was made of droids, didn't mean they didn't employ organics in their bases, Feemor had learnt, and the Republic had apparently bombarded this fort from orbit, which meant there'd been no time for anyone to evacuate._

_Times like this, he wonders who the real villains are in this kriffing war.)_

_"Search for survivors!" he calls to his men, some of whom are already spreading out, kneeling next to fallen Vode and oh-so-gently removing helmets to check vitals and close the eyes of the dead._

_"I've got one!" Prince shouts, waving from where he's kneeling next to a trooper in too-white armour, and Pomp and two Vode with a stretcher rush over to him._

_"Into the rubble, General?" Back-Up asks as he steps up next to Feemor, nodding his helmet towards the remains of the base._

_"I'm afraid so," Feemor agrees, and Back-Up lets out a long, overdone groan, even as he motions to where a small clump of newer troopers were huddled by the stretcher teams._

_With the shinies— _Force_ , that was one bit of Vode slang he really could have gone without picking up— following them, Feemor and Back-Up pick their way across the ruined base, carefully testing their steps before they move forward; one time setting off a minor rubble-slide by stepping in the wrong spot as a padawan had been more than enough to teach Feemor better, and he'd made certain all of his men also knew that danger._

_Of course, the shinies didn't seem to have received the warnings, because one of them lets out a startled noise as rubble slides together, and Feemor and Back-Up both look back, Back-Up laughing upon finding the trooper fallen on his arse._

_Feemor sighs at Nehutyc's second in command, and calls back to the shinies, "You'll want to watch your steps here; there's no guarantee everything is completely steady."_

_"Got that impression, sir," the shiny who had fallen replies as one of the other troopers steps over to give him a hand. "I'll be more– General!"_

_A body slams into Feemor's side as the whine of a firing blaster splits the air, and Feemor looks down, sees Back-Up taking the bolt that had been meant for him._

_Except, when they've both hit the rubble, the sharp edges of broken stones stabbing bruises into Feemor's side, blasters firing over their heads as the shinies take out whoever had attacked him, it isn't Back-Up who is laying on top of him, but **Obi-Wan** , his blue-green eyes gone grey and lifeless._

_" **Save him** ," he chokes out, blood coating his lips, dripping down his chin and onto Feemor's robes._

_As the little brother he'd never got to know dies in his arms, Feemor **screams**._

BREAK

Feemor jerked up in bed, gasping in air and grabbing for a body that wasn't there.

Around him, the private room was dark and near silent, only disturbed by the quiet breaths of Kei, who looked supremely uncomfortable sleeping with his head tilted to one side and slumped down in the chair next to the bed.

Feemor forced himself to just _breathe_ for a moment, let the new iteration of the old nightmare ease away, into the Force's familiar grasp. Back-Up's death had been one of the harder deaths for him during the war, because it _shouldn't have happened_. They'd been old hats at the search-and-rescue clean-ups by then, knew to keep their guards up when the area hadn't been cleared yet, but one shiny tripping had cost them one of the Vode he'd considered a close friend—far more personable than Nehutyc, Back-Up had reminded him of Roimata, serious and capable when needed, but more than willing to have fun when the work was done—and nearly his own life.

He stared down at the shadow of his lap, remembering Obi-Wan's eyes as he'd pleaded for Feemor to _save him_.

Save _who_?

Feemor let out a silent snort and grabbed for the IV line, carefully removing it with ease of long practise; he hadn't always been able to let Doc or Pomp pull the line from him when he'd been forced to submit to their care, and Doc had shown him the trick to it after the third time he'd ripped a wound in his own arm trying to get the damn thing out, grumbling the whole time about impatient jedi.

No, his memories of the war were no dream, and he wasn't completely certain it had been some sort of Force vision, either. Everything he'd ever read about Force visions—okay, he could admit that he'd gone looking as soon as he heard that Qui-Gon's newest padawan had precognition—suggested it was more of a _feeling_ , or flashes of events, but what he'd experienced was almost fourteen years of memories, clearly defined and as complete as they could have been, collected through a single, mediocre jedi's observations.

He shifted carefully out of bed, glancing at Kei to make sure his friend was still sleeping. He wanted to take the time to change into the clothes that had been folded and set to the side for him—at some point between fainting outside the refectory and waking in the Halls, someone had clearly seen fit to change him into the thin patient robes the healers seemed to use as a preventative measure against stubborn jedi escaping when no one was looking—but there was a sense of urgency in the Force, so he slipped into his boots as quickly as he could, grabbed his lightsabre, and grabbed the robe that had been slung over the end of his bed—Kei's, presumably—shrugging it on as he slipped from his room.

Out in the hallway, he could hear the sounds of jedi in a controlled rush, and when he snuck past the main ward, he found it bustling with a mixed crowd of healers and initiates or young padawans, many of the younglings marked with small burns. He didn't see Wangui among the crowd, and he let out a quiet, relieved breath, and made his escape from the Halls with no one the wiser.

The Force's gentle nudges led him to the main entrance of the Temple, which was empty enough to make it simple to spot his master, brother-padawan, and the young Skywalker. "Qui-Gon!" he shouted, because the group was far enough across the atrium, he couldn't guarantee he'd reach them before they left the building.

His master turned at the echo of his name, his two companions following suit, giving Feemor more than enough time to stumble down the grand staircase and hurry across the open floor to where they had stopped. "Feemor," Qui-Gon said, sounding surprised.

Feemor grabbed for his bicep, half in need of a moment to collect himself after his rush, half to assure himself that Qui-Gon was really there, was _alive_. To his surprise, Qui-Gon reached back in return, gripping his shoulder in that familiar way he'd always done when he'd wanted to tell Feemor how proud of him he was.

Tears sprung to Feemor's eyes and he hurriedly blinked them back, swallowing down a lump of emotion clogging his throat. "Are you– You're heading back to Naboo?" he managed to choke out.

Qui-Gon sighed, the sound almost fond. "Kimura's still listening at keyholes, then," he guessed, his voice dry.

Feemor shook his head. "Yes, probably. But, Master, this time–" He shook his head again and raised the hand that wasn't holding onto his former master, only to remember it was holding his lightsabre and letting it drop back to his side. "I, I had a, a vision. The sith, the Zabrak, he's going to kill you."

Qui-Gon had opened his mouth at the mention of a vision, clearly about to question the legitimacy, just as his friends had done, but when Feemor had said 'sith', his eyes had gone wide and he'd stiffened.

"Master?" Obi-Wan whispered, sounding shaken.

Qui-Gon twitched, glancing back over his shoulder at his current padawan. "Ah. Obi-Wan, this is Feemor, my first padawan," he offered, his voice holding an edge of forced calm, and, judging by the way Obi-Wan's eyes went wide, Feemor wasn't the only one who'd been surprised by their master actually _claiming_ him. "Feemor, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Feemor swallowed what felt like decades of regret and offered, "Hello, little brother." 

Obi-Wan seemed to shrink in on himself, eyes dropping to the floor.

Before Feemor could ask what was wrong—was Obi-Wan... _shy_? None of the stories he'd ever heard about his brother-padawan had even _hinted_ at such a thing—Qui-Gon said, "The Council doesn't believe me about the warrior being a sith."

"Kriff the Council," Feemor snapped, and Qui-Gon's eyes widened in surprise again, his hand tightening on Feemor's shoulder. "The sith were never gone, they were just _hiding_. And by the time the Council pulls their collective heads out of their arses, it'll be _too late_. I'm not– I— _we_ —can't lose you," he insisted, glancing at Obi-Wan, who was still staring down at the floor.

"We can't _not_ go, Feemor," Qui-Gon said in a mild voice that shook, just a little. "Especially with a sith involved."

"No, I know that." Feemor took a deep breath, letting the wash of oxygen push away old grief. If the Council refused to believe Maul was a sith, they'd never approve of additional jedi being sent to Naboo with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

If only he knew _how_ Qui-Gon had died, where everything went wrong. Presumably, Obi-Wan had told the whole thing to the Council, but the specifics had never been released to the Temple at large, and Yoda had never seen fit to share the full story of his master's death with him. And it wasn't like he could have asked _Obi-Wan_ , not without revealing why the knowing mattered to him. (Not that he'd likely have had the heart to force his brother-padawan to relive the trauma.)

So, they couldn't trust in the Council to send back-up, and Feemor had already seen that no one was going to believe he might have some idea of future danger.

His hand tightened around his lightsabre, the ridges of the hilt digging into the meat of his palm. "I'm coming with you," he decided, and the Force hummed in approval.

Qui-Gon hesitated for a moment, clearly also sensing the Force's agreement, then glanced down and raised an eyebrow. "In patient robes?"

Feemor cleared his throat and refused to be embarrassed. "Kei and Rún weren't so easy to convince," he offered by way of explanation. (Not that Qui-Gon really had any stones to be throwing when it came to escaping the Halls.)

Qui-Gon sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "I have a spare tunic that should fit you," he decided as he withdrew his hand. "Let's go before we're late."

Qui-Gon took the lead, and Obi-Wan seemed hesitant to fall in behind him, so Feemor motioned Skywalker ahead—the poor boy looked so utterly confused, and as much as Feemor wanted to insist he remain behind in the Temple, uncomfortable with the thought of taking a youngling into a war zone, he was fairly certain that the boy had had something to do with winning the battle—and then fell into step with his brother-padawan. "Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly, leaning down a bit in hopes of catching a better look at his expression.

Obi-Wan peeked over at him, his mouth pressed into a tight line and uncertainty dulling his eyes. "I don't...want him to die," he said, voice so quiet, Feemor almost didn't hear him.

Feemor reached over and rested his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, the same as Qui-Gon had done for him, as he had done for his own padawans and the Vode who had served under him. "Neither do I. And I–" He hesitated, swallowing against decades of bitterness. "I don't know, if my coming will save him. But...I have to try."

Obi-Wan nodded and straightened his back, so the top of his head came up to just above Feemor's eyebrows, rather than level with his nose.

Feemor coughed, surprised, and when Obi-Wan shot him a frown, he admitted, "I always thought you were taller."

Obi-Wan's steps stuttered and he choked out, "I am not _short_! You're just... _abnormally tall_!"

Feemor couldn't stop a laugh, and when Qui-Gon—already having settled Skywalker into the taxi that was waiting for them—raised his judgemental eyebrow at them, the laugh turned into slightly hysterical giggles.

Obi-Wan's hand caught his elbow, steadying him. "Are you...okay?"

Feemor shook his head, because he'd spent three years in and out of warzones, got shot by his commander, and woke up in what, by all appearances, was his own past; he had a feeling he needed a few sessions with a mind healer, but he would settle for doing his best to keep Qui-Gon alive for a few more days. "It has been a very, _very_ long day, little brother."

Obi-Wan's lips quirked, like he wasn't completely certain if he should smile at that. "I know the feeling," he offered.

Feemor leant over and knocked shoulders with the padawan. "Come on, before he resorts to the Force to pull us along."

Obi-Wan choked out a quiet laugh, his eyes bright with humour.

For the first time in two decades, Feemor felt like he and Obi-Wan Kenobi—Sith-killer, Negotiator, and member of the Jedi High Council—might actually become friends.

.


	2. One Day Changes Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people are excited about having Feemor the time traveller! ~~This chapter he gets to start being the overprotective big brother Obi-Wan deserves.~~
> 
> I made a very minor change in the first chapter, changing all instances of 'clone(s)' to 'Vod(e)', because I'm working on another fic in this series and Feemor kept getting twitchy about how derogatory 'clone' sounded, so I let him change it. Which also meant changing it in the part of this already posted. So. *shrugs a bit* Anyway, it's uppercase because he's treating it like a proper noun, like a nationality (worldity? planetity?) or race/species, rather than just a term. Idk, it made sense in my brain? ~~That was probably my first mistake...~~

Feemor had ended up hiding in the ship while Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker waited for the rest of their party, borrowing Qui-Gon's travel pack and picking through his former master's belongings for the spare tunics and leggings. It was hardly his preferred colour—Qui-Gon had always preferred the classic dull beige, while Feemor much preferred a more orange shade of brown—and the arms of the tunics and legs of the leggings were a little long, but at least it wasn't patient robes, so he'd make do.

(And maybe shred the patient robes to make himself a belt for his sabre.)

He was just finishing shoving his feet back into his boots, when Obi-Wan stormed into the room, looking a little like he wanted to murder something.

"Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan flinched, head snapping up to look at him, and then he deflated. "How much do you know about, about Ani? The boy," he asked in an uncertain voice.

"Skywalker?" Feemor asked, and Obi-Wan nodded, dropping tiredly onto one of the two sleep couches. "I know–" He hesitated, debating how much to tell his brother-padawan about what had happened in the future. He cleared his throat, twisting his fingers together behind his back. "I know that, when our master died, you took him on as your padawan."

Obi-Wan jerked, his head coming up to reveal eyes wide with disbelieving shock. " _Me_? Take a _padawan_? Oh, no, that is– I mean, uh, don't, don't take me wrong, I love the crèche and the younglings just fine, but I'm, well–" He held his arms out to either side. " _Look_ at me. I'm still a padawan! And Master Qui-Gon might have said I'm ready for my Trials, but I _know_ that's only because he wants to take Ani as his padawan–"

"I'm sorry," Feemor interrupted as warning bells went off in his head. "Why do you think Qui-Gon would send you to your Trials just to train Skywalker?"

"I– Be–because that's what he said. To the Council."

The rage that washed through him wasn't really a surprise, even if it should have been; he'd spent almost twenty years trying to talk his friends down from outright attacking Qui-Gon in some misguided defence of Feemor's trampled honour. Between Qui-Gon's death and the (presumed) proof that he'd managed to raise at least _one_ padawan without destroying something inside him—because Obi-Wan Kenobi had always seemed the best of them, though Feemor had allowed himself some private glee at the thought of Qui-Gon's face if he'd been alive to see one of his padawans join the _Council_ —he'd finally started to let the old pain, the whisper of anger at being repudiated because of _Xanatos_ , go.

Except, apparently, Obi-Wan hadn't managed to survive their master without some scars, and while Feemor would never have called Qui-Gon out in his own defence, there was _no way_ he was going to let his little brother go on thinking he was some sort of, of _stepping stone_ on Qui-Gon's path through life.

The door to the cabin opened again, admitting the very focus of his anger, who was saying, "I told Her Majesty that we had one more, and–"

Feemor stepped up to Qui-Gon and punched him in the middle of his crooked nose, causing him to stumble back out into the hall, almost tripping over Skywalker before the door closed between them. 

"Master!" Obi-Wan called, rising from the sleep couch in a rush. "Why did you _do_ that?!" he demanded.

"Because he karking well _deserved it_ ," Feemor replied, and was a little disturbed at how much of a snarl was in his voice.

The door opened again and Qui-Gon and Skywalker stepped through, Qui-Gon holding a hand over his nose. " _Feemor_ ," he said, disapproving and only slightly nasally, so it was unlikely Feemor had managed to rebreak his nose.

"Qui-Gon," Feemor returned icily. "Do you actually _care_ that you've done the same thing to Obi-Wan as you did to me?"

Qui-Gon blinked and shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said after a long, tense moment of silence, gingerly lowering his hand from his nose as he spoke. There was blood staining his moustache and beard, but little enough that Feemor suspected he'd applied Force healing nearly automatically.

"So you _didn't_ repudiate him in front of the Council?" Feemor demanded.

Qui-Gon jerked back, his eyes jerking over to where Obi-Wan was standing just behind and two steps to the right of Feemor. "Obi-Wan, that's not–"

"You have a _problem_ , Master," Feemor interrupted, and Qui-Gon, unexpectedly, looked down at the floor, like he was _actually_ ashamed of himself. "When we get back to Coruscant, you need to go to the Council and take back everything you said to them. I will _help you_ argue for Sky– for Anakin's placement in the crèche, because I've seen what an excellent knight he can become, but I _will not_ support your claim on him, not after this. Stay in the Temple and teach a few classes, if you feel the need to be a teacher, but I think you've had enough padawans."

"Do you, now?" Qui-Gon growled, no longer looking even the slightest bit ashamed.

"You've repudiated me, Xanatos Fell, and you just repudiated Obi-Wan," Feemor shot back, refusing to back down. "You're three for three, and now you want to kriff up with a fourth? Even _Master Yan_ knew when it was time to quit."

Qui-Gon straightened, using the five centimetres height difference to loom down on Feemor. "If not for Yoda's _meddling_ , I would have stopped after Xan," he bit out.

Obi-Wan let out a nearly silent wounded sound, and Feemor had to grip his hands behind his back to keep from punching his master again.

"Right," Feemor bit out. "Blame the troll, that _always_ helps matters."

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes.

Fingers plucked at the sleeve of Feemor's borrowed tunic, and shame washed through him; Obi-Wan should not have had to listen to Feemor dredging up all of the old wounds their master had inflicted, and neither, honestly, should Skywalker, who was standing just inside the—thankfully closed—door, back to the wall and his eyes wide and a little terrified.

Gritting his teeth and leashing his anger, Feemor asked, "Queen Amidala wanted to meet me?" in his most diplomatic voice.

Qui-Gon's jaw clenched and he gave a jerky nod, before saying, in an equally diplomatic voice, "Yes, she'd like to be introduced to _all_ of her protectors."

"Of course," Feemor agreed, turning to Obi-Wan. "Might you be willing to show me the way, while Master Jinn washes his face?"

"Yes, of course," Obi-Wan got out in a rush, relief chasing across his face. "Ani? Did you want to stay here, or–?"

"I wanna see Padmé," Skywalker said quietly, sounding so very much like a terrified youngling.

Feemor was _really_ wishing he'd picked a better time to have it out with Qui-Gon.

"I'm sure the queen will know where she is," Obi-Wan promised, holding down a hand for the boy, which Skywalker hesitated for a moment before taking.

Feemor and Qui-Gon traded places without touching or looking at each other, and Feemor followed Obi-Wan and Skywalker out of the room, leaving the elder master to clean the blood off his face in peace.

"I'm sorry," Feemor offered once the door had closed behind them. "That...should have been done in private."

Neither Obi-Wan nor Skywalker responded for a half-dozen steps, and then Obi-Wan said, "I had wondered, why he'd never mentioned you."

"Xanatos would have been _delighted_ to know he'd overshadowed me to such a degree that you didn't even know I existed," Feemor said, and he couldn't help how bitter the words were on his tongue.

"Shadows and hatred were all Xanatos was good for," Obi-Wan offered, glancing over at Feemor with a slightly hopeful air.

"Oh, I don't know, he was pretty good at unnecessary amounts of drama, too."

The corners of Obi-Wan's mouth turned up with the beginnings of a smile. "I always thought the drama was learnt from Qui-Gon."

Feemor coughed against a laugh. "If so, it really originated with Master Yan."

"Master Yan?" Obi-Wan repeated.

Feemor blinked, then frowned in thought; had Obi-Wan never met their grandmaster? "Yan Dooku, our grandmaster." He cast a quick glance at Obi-Wan, taking in the furrow between his brows. "He's never got on well with the Council, less so even than Qui-Gon; he doesn't spend much time in the Temple."

"I didn't realise you _could_ get on with the Council less than Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan muttered.

Feemor grimaced, aware of exactly how far against the Council their grandmaster was destined to go.

Thankfully, before they could get any further into that minefield, they reached what appeared to be queen's ship-based throne room.

"Padawan Kenobi," the queen greeted as they stopped in the middle of the room, Obi-Wan and Skywalker in the lead. "And Anakin."

"Is Padmé here?" Skywalker asked quietly.

The queen looked over to where one of the women dressed in orange was standing, and she stepped forward. "I am, Ani."

Skywalker dropped Obi-Wan's hand and rushed over to her, hiding in her skirts.

"What's happened?" the young woman demanded, looking between Obi-Wan and Feemor with the sort of authority that Feemor wouldn't have expected from a handmaiden.

"My fault, I'm afraid," Feemor offered, stepping up to stand beside his brother-padawan and offering a bow to the queen. (Well, the woman sitting on the throne, at least; Naboo certainly wouldn't be the first world he'd treated with that used a decoy system to protect their rulers.) "I am Jedi Master and Ambassador Feemor."

Next to him, Obi-Wan twitched at the 'master'.

Turning to 'Padmé' and Skywalker, he explained, "Master Jinn and I have...history. Some things needed to be said between us, and I'm afraid they were said without thought for bystanders."

'Padmé' frowned, but nodded, her fingers carding through Skywalker's mop of blond hair. "I always thought jedi were supposed to be calm and collected, especially jedi masters," she said, just a little too pointed.

Feemor shrugged, keeping on his polite, diplomatic smile. "We are all yet beholden to the species we were born to, miss," he offered. "Just as you have emotions that can get the best of you, so do we jedi. We're simply better at hiding them."

'Padmé' hummed an acknowledgement, turning to focus her attention on Skywalker.

Feemor sensed Qui-Gon approaching and stepped off to the side, leaving space in the centre of the floor for the elder master, which he stepped into as soon as he arrived, bowing to the 'queen'.

With everyone gathered in one space, they set about hashing out their plans upon their arrival. Feemor was relieved that he wasn't the only one who felt sceptical about the queen's plan to involve the Gungans—Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and the captain of the queen's guard, Quarsh Panaka, all felt very uncertain as she laid out her plan, while their Gungan contact, Jar-Jar Binks, was practically _bleeding_ low-level panic and anxiety into the Force—but none of them bothered trying more than a token effort to talk her out of it.

(In truth, it was very likely the only possible plan, given their numbers and the numbers that could be assumed the Trade Federation had.)

By the time they broke for the night, nearly everyone was yawning, including Feemor—clearly, he still hadn't slept enough to fix whatever the Force had done to him—and Skywalker had fallen asleep and been taken from the room by one of the other handmaidens, which just made Feemor that much more suspicious of 'Padmé's' identity.

There wasn't much space on the ship, which Feemor had to admit hadn't figured into his choice to tag along.

"Ani's sleeping on the bench in the galley," Obi-Wan told Feemor and Qui-Gon after he'd checked in with the handmaiden who had taken the boy from 'Padmé' earlier. He cast a quick, uncertain look between them. "I'll go stay with him."

"Yes," Qui-Gon said in that mild tone he always used to hide something, "that may be for the best."

Feemor didn't sigh, but it was a near thing.

It was...strange, how easy it was to fall back into the old patterns he and Qui-Gon had developed over the course of his apprenticeship, easily staying out of each other's way as they traded using the 'fresher and changed into clothing for sleeping—Feemor used the patient robes, a little glad he hadn't yet had time to turn them into a belt.

It wasn't until they had both settled down on their sleeping couches and the lights in the cabin had been turned out that Qui-Gon said, "I'm sorry."

"For me, or for Obi-Wan?" Feemor asked, and he hated how bitterly the words came out.

Qui-Gon was silent for a beat, then he said, "Both."

Feemor sighed. "Just...make things right with Obi-Wan. _Before_ we get to Naboo."

Qui-Gon was quiet for long enough, Feemor honestly thought that was the end of the conversation, but just as he was starting to drift off, his former master said, "You've never been prone to visions."

"No," Feemor agreed tiredly; leave it to Qui-Gon Jinn to start questioning him about this _now_.

Qui-Gon shifted on the other couch. "My death, Ani becoming an excellent knight... Anything else you saw?"

"Obi-Wan joining the Council," Feemor offered.

"He _what_?!" Qui-Gon demanded, sounding horrified.

Feemor laughed; yes, he'd known Qui-Gon would have been aghast at that.

The lights of the cabin flared back on, and Feemor squinted over to see his former master sitting up and glowering at him. "Not funny, Feemor."

Feemor coughed against another laugh. "He really did. He took Master Billaba's spot."

Qui-Gon frowned. "What happened to Depa?" And then, before Feemor could answer, he shook his head and said, "No, I'm sure you've no idea."

"I do...mostly," Feemor offered, not quite certain why he wasn't accepting the easy out. Maybe because a part of him _missed_ having Qui-Gon to lean on, had for a very long time. "A...mission on Haruun Kal went poorly. She was in a coma for almost two years."

Qui-Gon was very, very still, watching Feemor with his sharp, too-clever eyes.

Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, Feemor sat up himself, slipping his hands under the blanket so he could fidget with them without Qui-Gon seeing, the same way he'd always done as a padawan.

Qui-Gon's eyes flickered down to his lap, but he didn't comment on the old bad habit, just said, "This doesn't sound like a vision, Feemor," in a quiet, careful voice.

"No," Feemor agreed just as quietly. "It– Master, it didn't _feel_ like a vision, either. It felt like, like–" He let out an irritated breath and loosened his hands from each other so he could reach up and rake one through his hair, fingers catching on knots between the strands. "It feels like a second chance. To, to _fix_ everything that went _wrong_. The sith came back and there was a war and just–" He gave a sharp shake of his head. "You, Wangui, Rún, Roimata, Vega, Ace, even Master Yan. I– Kei and Yoda were all I had _left_ , Master."

It wasn't until Qui-Gon was settling on the couch beside him and curling a hand around his shoulder, that Feemor realised there were tears on his face. And he twisted and pressed his face against his master's shoulder, sobbing out thirteen years' worth of loss and trusting that, for once, there was someone there who would keep him safe.

"I'm sorry, Padawan," Qui-Gon whispered as Feemor started to calm down.

Feemor let himself take another moment of the comfort he'd lost a long time ago, then pulled away. "What's done is done," he said quietly, brushing a hand over the stain of tears on his face. He snorted, couldn't bring himself to look at Qui-Gon as he added, "And it seems the Force saw fit to give me a second chance. For some reason."

Qui-Gon reached out and squeezed his shoulder, the grip warm and familiar. "I'm glad," he said. "I have...missed you."

Feemor scoffed and cast a tiredly unimpressed look at the older man. "Whose fault was that, I wonder?"

Qui-Gon winced and inclined his head. "That's– Yes." He took a deep breath and caught Feemor's gaze. "What I did... Feemor, I'd never meant to hurt you. I was just–"

"You forget, Qui-Gon," Feemor interrupted flatly, because he wasn't certain he could listen to the excuses he was certain were coming, "I know how you get when Master Yan starts picking at you for some stupid reason or another. I _know_ you were just reacting, _badly_ , to Xanatos throwing you and the whole Order under the speeder. If it had been personal, I'd have let Kei have at you."

Qui-Gon snorted. "I'm not afraid of Kimura," he insisted.

Feemor nodded and politely didn't call him on that bantha poodoo. (Although, to be fair, he may not be aware of exactly how difficult his life would have got, having a member of the Temple Guard out for his blood. He wasn't even completely certain Qui-Gon _knew_ Kei was a member of the Guard; he hadn't taken the position until after Xanatos left, and Feemor would never buy his insistence that he _hadn't_ done it for the chance to anonymously give Qui-Gon hell.)

Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, his thoughts clearly tracking away from the matter of Kei's attempts at vengeance. "You said...Yoda and Kimura, they were the only ones who...survived?"

Feemor threaded his fingers together in an attempt to keep from fidgeting. "In my circle, that I knew about, yes," he admitted quietly.

Qui-Gon's eyes closed, grief passing over his face. "Then, Obi-Wan–"

_Oh_ , Feemor felt a bit like an idiot. "He was still alive, when I, when I died." Was shot. By someone he'd trusted.

Qui-Gon looked at him, brow lined with confusion. "But, then...?"

"I...never got to know him. Master Yoda, he helped me keep tabs on him, kept me updated, but I didn't– I, I never knew _how_ to approach him. You died and he took on Sky–Anakin as his padawan–"

"Oh," Qui-Gon whispered, looking a bit surprised.

"–and he, Anakin, he was struggling. Too far behind, no way to relate to other padawans and no common ground with any of the initiates. Obi-Wan had his hands full, and I didn't want to add to that, make everything worse. And then, then Wangui was knighted and died on her first mission, and I–"

"I know," Qui-Gon said quietly, squeezing his shoulder again, and Feemor suspected he _did_ , because Xanatos may have left the Order of his own volition, but he'd still been _gone_ , and Qui-Gon had responded by pulling away from everyone and everything to mourn. And then he offered Feemor an uncertain smile. "Wangui, she's your current padawan?"

Feemor nodded. "She's, well, I left her back at Temple. Taking a fourteen-year-old to fight a sith lord seems like a bad idea."

"Ah." Qui-Gon looked away, towards the door of the cabin. "I expect you would have preferred Ani remain at the Temple."

"Absolutely," Feemor returned flatly, and Qui-Gon winced. He sighed and reached up to squeeze his former master's arm. "But I understand. The Temple isn't willing to accept him, not quite; it would be cruel to leave him somewhere he feels unwanted. And–" he huffed "–from what I heard, he was—will be?—essential to Naboo's freedom."

"Well, that's..." Qui-Gon grimaced.

"Disconcerting?"

"Rather."

Eerily in sync, they raised their eyebrows at each other. Feemor broke first, looking away with a quiet huff of laughter.

Qui-Gon's hand left his shoulder to muss his hair as he stood from the couch. "Get some sleep, Feemor. We'll see if Her Majesty will let you and Obi-Wan use the throne room to practise tomorrow; I expect it's a bad idea to face a sith with people you've never fought beside."

"Ah." Feemor nodded. "Yes. Also, I've—well, the me that's more immediate in my memories—I've been using Soresu."

" _Soresu_?" Qui-Gon repeated as the lights went out, sounding wounded. "What happened to Ataru?"

"Ataru is well and good against one or two opponents, Master, but I've spent the last three years of my life trying to protect as many people as I could from a hail of blaster bolts."

Qui-Gon was silent and still for a long, long moment, then he said, "I don't think I like this future you experienced."

"Nor did I."

Qui-Gon settled himself on his couch, Feemor following suit. "Good night, Feemor," Qui-Gon offered into the darkness of the cabin. "I'm glad you're here."

Feemor swallowed against a lump in his throat, and whispered back, "Good night, Master."

BREAK

Whether it was a reward for catching Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan up and inserting himself into their mission, or if he'd just purged the most immediate of his fears and grief during his cry, Feemor couldn't say, but he had one of the most restful sleeps of the past...

Actually, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd managed to sleep the night through and woken feeling rested.

"Are you two okay, now?" Obi-Wan asked when Feemor joined him and Skywalker in the galley. Given Qui-Gon had decided to go and ask the queen about using the throne room before breakfast, so it was just him, it was a bit of a valid question.

Feemor nodded as he looked through the shipboard ration packs, grimacing a bit at the options; just because he was _used_ to rations, after three years at war, didn't mean he _liked_ them. "As much as we'll probably ever be," he admitted, because he knew himself far too well to believe he wouldn't pull the whole mess out and use it to hurt Qui-Gon if they got into another fight about something and he felt like he was losing.

(He wasn't always the best jedi, but he had learnt that it was better to acknowledge his failings, at least privately, than to ignore them and end up endangering someone else with his ignorance. It was something Yoda had tried to get him to see after Wangui's death, when he spent almost an entire year avoiding the Temple, but it had been Doc and Pomp—trying so very hard to get him to stop pretending his insomnia wasn't a problem—who had finally taught him the lesson.)

"Qui-Gon went to ask Her Majesty if we can use the throne room to practise fighting together," he added as he joined Obi-Wan and Skywalker at the table.

"That...is a good idea," Obi-Wan admitted with a wry smile.

"You're going to practise with your laser-swords?!" Skywalker asked, perking up.

"Lightsabres," Feemor corrected gently, and Skywalker wrinkled his nose. "And, yes, we are. Obi-Wan and I have never fought together, and Qui-Gon and I... Well, it's been a while."

Skywalker looked down into his lap, looking uncertain. "You and Mr Qui-Gon, you don't like each other?"

"What?" Feemor blinked a couple of times, thrown by the question; what had even _given_ Skywalker that idea? He'd got into a fight with Qui-Gon, sure, but that didn't mean they didn't like each other!

"No, it's, hm." Obi-Wan tugged on his braid twice, looking thoughtful. "You have friends, back on Tatooine, right?"

Skywalker glanced over at Obi-Wan with a small frown, nodding. "Kitster and Banai, yeah."

"Did you ever get into a fight with either of them?"

Skywalker nodded again, glancing at Feemor. "Then, you and Mr Qui-Gon, you're just having a fight?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Qui-Gon said, announcing his entrance to the room. "Think of it more like, I did something that hurt Feemor, a long time ago, and never apologised like I should have." He dropped a gentle hand to Feemor's shoulder and squeezed.

Feemor offered him a wry smile.

"Oh," Skywalker said, sounding dejected.

"Unfortunately, Ani, even jedi masters make mistakes," Qui-Gon told the boy with that helplessly apologetic smile he tended to pull out when he wasn't certain how to fix something. He squeezed Feemor's shoulder again, then pulled away, heading for the cupboard of rations. "Her Majesty has agreed to let us use the throne room for the morning, but has warned that some of the others on board may wish to observe. I told her that should be okay."

"Really?" Skywalker asked, perking right back up. "We can watch?"

"So long as you stay in one spot, close to the walls, it shouldn't be a problem," Feemor agreed with a shrug, while Obi-Wan nodded. He glanced at his brother-padawan and asked, "Ataru?"

Obi-Wan offered a crooked smile in response. "What a surprisingly good guess," he said in a dry voice, and Feemor chuckled. "Ataru as well?"

Feemor raised his hand to make a so-so gesture. "I've actually been using more Soresu, of late. But, yes, Ataru. And some Makashi."

Qui-Gon scoffed. " _Makashi_ ," he muttered, as disgusted as ever as the form Yan swore by.

Obi-Wan hid a polite cough into one hand—he might not have ever met their grandmaster, but he'd clearly been subjected to their master's view on his favourite form—while Feemor rolled his eyes and said, "Given we're expecting to face another lightsabre wielder, Makashi might be the best choice."

Qui-Gon turned an honest-to-Force horrified look on him.

Obi-Wan choked out a laugh and ducked his head towards the table.

Feemor turned a serene smile on his former master. "I didn't say you had to use it yourself, Master, though I expect you're the best of the three of us with it."

Qui-Gon looked like he wanted to refuse, but then he grimaced. "Using Makashi is something I wouldn't have done without you here," he said.

Feemor stiffened, while Obi-Wan went very, very still next to him.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I'm rather out of practice, I'm afraid."

Feemor looked down to watch his fingers smoothing over the edges of his empty ration package, wondering exactly how long he'd been fidgeting with it. "It sounds like we _all_ need some time practising, then," he offered in a perfectly neutral voice.

"So it seems," Qui-Gon agreed in the same.

Obi-Wan let out a explosive gust of air and slumped in his seat, leaning a little bit closer to Feemor.

Feemor—whose first padawan, Ace, had used the same move to request a hug when they weren't certain it would be allowed or welcomed—shifted closer and wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders.

Obi-Wan tensed for a second, like he hadn't expected the contact, then relaxed against Feemor with a nearly silent, "Thanks."

Feemor tightened his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders in a silent acknowledgement, even as he picked up his wrapper with his free hand, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the direction of the recycling unit, using the Force to ensure it went in.

Skywalker let out a delighted cheer, while Qui-Gon said, "Feemor," in a disapproving voice.

"The thing," Feemor informed his former master, "about being a master myself, is I no longer have to listen to you and your 'inappropriate use of the Force' lectures."

Obi-Wan ducked his head down, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"Wait, that was bad?" Skywalker asked, looking between them with a furrowed brow.

Qui-Gon sighed and shook his head, sliding gracefully into one of the chairs across from them. "The Force is an extremely powerful source of energy, capable of a great many wonderful and terrible things. We must respect it, which means _not using it to do things we're perfectly capable of doing without it_ ," he finished a bit too pointedly.

Feemor raised an eyebrow at him. "And who was it who kept using the Force to turn the lights on and off in the cabin last night?"

Qui-Gon straightened, expression going a bit self-important. "As you have pointed out, the perks of being a master–"

Feemor chuckled and shook his head fondly; it was hardly the first time he'd called out his former master for using the Force for minor things, though he'd still been a knight the last time they'd had this debate. "As you say, Master."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, then made a bit of a show of crumpling his own wrapper and tossing it over his shoulder, using the Force to direct it into the recycler.

Skywalker laughed, clearly delighted, while Obi-Wan let out a huff and shook his head. "If you're done being _inappropriate_ , Master," he said in a dry tone, "perhaps we should relocate to the throne room?"

"Of course," Qui-Gon agreed. "Feemor, if you could go ahead with Ani? I need to speak with Obi-Wan for a moment."

Obi-Wan stiffened, and Feemor gave his shoulders another squeeze before finally withdrawing. "Of course," he agreed as he stood. "Come along, Anakin. We can decide on the best vantage point for you."

Skywalker slid off the bench and hurried around to join him at the doorway, and they left together, the boy chewing his bottom lip. "Obi-Wan isn't in trouble, is he?" he asked once they were out of hearing range of the galley.

"No." Feemor reached down and ruffled the boy's hair gently, and received a grin in return. "I'm not the only one Qui-Gon owed an apology to."

Skywalker frowned at that. "Because of...what happened with the Council?" he guessed.

"Yes."

The boy scratched the back of his neck. "I don't really get it," he admitted. "Mr Qui-Gon, to me, it sounded like he thought Obi-Wan was ready? To face his....trials?"

"The Trials of Knighthood," Feemor explained. "They're a series of five trials, or tests, that all jedi padawans must surpass to be considered jedi knights."

"Oh. Are they hard?"

"They were some of the most difficult things I have ever had to do," Feemor admitted honestly.

Skywalker shrank in on himself a bit.

Feemor sighed and stopped, kneeling down next to the boy and gently catching his shoulders, turning him so they were facing. "The Trials aren't meant to be something simple, Anakin. Being a jedi knight is a dangerous and often lonely life, and the Council needs to know that knights can keep themselves and any others with them safe. If a knight cannot wield a lightsabre in combat, or runs when faced with danger, would you want to send them out on a mission where they might need to protect a group of children?"

"No," Skywalker admitted, looking miserable.

Feemor nodded. "The Trials are difficult because the galaxy is a dangerous place, and the Council doesn't want to send anyone to their death, if they can help it."

"Oh."

Feemor sighed and gently squeezed Skywalker's small shoulders. "I don't know, exactly, how everything happened in the Council Chamber," he admitted, "and it _is_ nice that Qui-Gon believes Obi-Wan is ready to take the Trials; it's something I agree with him about."

"Really?" Skywalker asked, clearly curious. "But you've only just met, I thought."

Feemor smiled and shrugged. "We did, yes, but I knew about him before now, and I've observed enough of him to know he's ready."

Skywalker nodded his understanding. "Okay. So, the Trials are really hard, but thinking someone is ready for them isn't a bad thing."

"Exactly," Feemor agreed. "It wasn't anything related to the Trials that Qui-Gon did. At least, not directly; Obi-Wan told me Qui-Gon only said he was ready for his Trials so he could train _you_."

Skywalker gave a slow, uncertain nod. "The Council wouldn't accept me, otherwise," he said, and the words sounded bitter.

Feemor sighed; he was getting a better idea of why Qui-Gon had mis-stepped so badly, this time. "Unfortunately, Qui-Gon doesn't always think when he'd butting heads with the Council."

"I thought...you said I should be trained," Skywalker said, hunching in on himself a bit.

"Oh, Anakin, I _do_ ," Feemor promised, tugging the boy into a hug.

He was a little surprised when Skywalker clung to him in return; clearly, the boy was in desperate need of human contact.

"You're going to make an _amazing_ knight," he murmured against the boy's hair, "but you're older than any other prospective initiate we've seen since the Sith Wars, and that makes people—makes the _Council_ —nervous, because they don't know how best to train you, and they don't want to kriff it up. For _your_ sake."

"That's not what it sounded like to me," Skywalker whispered against his shoulder, sounding a little like he was trying not to cry.

Feemor grimaced. "Well, you remember what Padmé said last night? She thought jedi masters were calm and collected all the time, because that's how we try to portray ourselves, especially when we're nervous or scared."

"Yoda said jedi aren't supposed to get scared," Skywalker muttered.

"Yoda is a nine hundred-year-old troll, who needs to stop telling other people how to live their lives," Feemor returned drily.

Skywalker let out a startled giggle.

"Jedi are allowed to get scared, and we _do_. It's what you _do_ with that fear that really matters."

"I don't...understand."

Feemor sighed, wondering how best to explain a concept that he'd understood since he'd been a youngling.

"Feemor?" Qui-Gon called as he and Obi-Wan approached, concern bleeding into the Force.

"We're getting side-tracked by the Order's basic philosophy," Feemor explained a bit helplessly.

"Ah." Qui-Gon folded his hands together, sleeves overlapping to hide them. "Which part are we caught on?"

Feemor huffed a slightly helpless laugh at the familiar teaching voice his former master had slipped into. "How to handle fear."

Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan, who looked startled for a moment, before saying, "By releasing it into the Force?"

Qui-Gon's moustache twitched with a suppressed smile. "Generally, yes. But what must you do with that fear before you can release it?"

Obi-Wan blinked and tilted his head to the side, one hand reaching up and tugging on his braid.

In Feemor's arms, Skywalker had twisted so he could watch the byplay, expression interested, though he hadn't let go of Feemor's borrowed tunic.

"Master it," Obi-Wan decided. And then, upon spotting Skywalker's confused frown, said, "You're a podracer, correct?"

The boy nodded, face breaking out in a grin. "The best!" he agreed.

Ah, pride. Feemor suspected that had been something Skywalker had struggled with even as a knight.

"Podracing is dangerous," Obi-Wan continued, "and I'm sure there have been times when you've been afraid while doing it."

"I, erm, yeah, a few times. Like, during the Boonta Eve, one of my engines started choking. But I got it fixed." He grinned again.

"Because you mastered your fear," Obi-Wan replied, inclining his head. "You were afraid, yes, but you didn't let it stop you from doing what needed to be done to fix your engine. Once you mastered your fear, you let it go, rather than dwelling on it, right?"

" _Oh_ ," Skywalker said, his eyes gone wide.

"If you'd frozen because of your fear, or turned it on others by attacking them, or lingered on it, let it fester, after the race was over, that would have been wrong," Feemor offered. "That's not the jedi way."

"That," Qui-Gon agreed grimly, "is the path to the dark side."

Skywalker nodded, looking thoughtful as he turned back to Feemor. "So, the Council, they were...afraid?"

"Ah. This is about what happened in the Council Chamber," Qui-Gon realised.

Feemor sighed and nodded. "Yes. I'd ask you to clarify, but I don't trust you to see things from the Council's view."

Qui-Gon's offended huff was _mostly_ for show. At least, Feemor was pretty sure it was.

"I think," Obi-Wan offered hesitantly, "that the Council's... I don't know that I would call it _fear_ , more...concern. But, well, you're older than any other initiate, and you come from a...hard life. Very different from growing up in the Temple. That, that's–"

"It's a complication," Feemor offered when it became clear that Obi-Wan was struggling a bit. "And no one likes complications, especially when you have to keep in mind the safety and well-being of a thousand other sentients, every one of whom has access to a form of energy capable of doing both wonderful and terrible things."

Obi-Wan nodded his thanks. "That, yes. And Master Yoda, he's seeing darkness in the future, in _your_ future, and that makes him nervous."

Skywalker slumped. "Oh."

"It's not just your future that's dark, Anakin," Feemor said, hating, a little, the way his voice shook. "The sith are coming out of hiding for the first time in a millennium, and they'll seek to destroy everything we hold dear. Joy, love, freedom, the entirety of the jedi order, even. Because, the sith..." He swallowed and shook his head, unable to look at any of the others. "They want power, to be better than everyone else, and the quickest way to do that is to destroy anyone who might threaten you, to leave broken and beaten down whoever they cannot turn to their own purposes or kill."

"Feemor," Qui-Gon breathed, his Force presence lunging forward and wrapping warmth and comfort around him.

Feemor closed his eyes and made himself take a breath, let his former master's presence ease the lingering fear and grief, and put on a smile for Skywalker, who responded by leaning back in and giving him a far more physical hug. "We'll talk to the Council, Anakin," he promised quietly, before casting Qui-Gon a hard stare and adding, " _Talk_ to them, Master, not give them an _ultimatum_. I will never understand how you can be lauded as one of the Order's best diplomats, yet be incapable of getting through a single meeting with the Council without needing someone to _mediate_."

Qui-Gon had the grace to wince, but then he turned an unimpressed look on Obi-Wan when he attempted to muffle a rather unconvincing cough in his fist.

Feemor shook his head at the pair of them and turned back to where Skywalker was looking between them with wide eyes. He ruffled the boy's hair, recapturing his attention, and promised, "Let's get through this mission and see the Naboo freed, then we'll focus on having you admitted to the initiate program."

"Not a padawan?" Skywalker asked, looking a bit disheartened.

"I think," Feemor replied as diplomatically as he could, "that you would be best served by mingling with others your age for a couple years, rather than immediately being sequestered in the padawan/master quarters. That way, you can make friends and ignore your coursework and stay up late planning pranks to pull on unsuspecting masters, without an adult running herd on you all hours of the day."

Skywalker had relaxed and broken out into a grin by the time Feemor was done talking, clearly especially cheered at the thought of planning pranks with other initiates—he suspected certain Council members would be regretting refusing the boy admittance sooner, rather than later—and he agreed, "That sounds way wizard."

"And how much of a menace were _you_ as an initiate, Master Feemor?" Qui-Gon asked drily, as if he hadn't heard plenty of stories about the trouble Kei had dragged him into over the years, before the prankster had learnt the art of subtlety. (Sort of.)

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Master Jinn," Feemor replied in a formal tone.

Skywalker giggled.

Qui-Gon shook his head, clearly amused. "Did you have any other questions, Ani?"

Skywalker glanced between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, then shook his head. "I'm good," he decided, which Feemor took to mean he wasn't completely comfortable returning to his original line of questioning with the other two jedi there. "Lightsabres?"

"Lightsabres," Qui-Gon agreed, and stepped forward to offer Feemor a hand up, once Skywalker had finally let him go to race down the hall to the throne room. "I'm fairly certain, former padawan of mine, that the Council would disapprove of you teaching the boy jedi philosophy."

"I'm equally certain, former master of mine, that they're going to be far more upset at me tagging along on your mission, given I'm supposed to be in the Halls," Feemor returned drily.

"If this is a sign," Obi-Wan said in a bland tone that was belied by the amusement threading through the Force around him, "that I'll spend the rest of my life being a headache for the Council, perhaps I would have been better off in the AgriCorps."

Feemor chuckled and clapped the younger jedi on the shoulder. "Don't worry, little brother, I'm sure you're more likely to end up _on_ the Council."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, looking pained. "Please stop."

"I am...not Council material. At all," Obi-Wan insisted, shaking his head and waving his hands as though to ward off the possibility. "The Council is for the wisest and most accomplished masters, not– I mean," he hurried to correct when both Qui-Gon and Feemor turned frowns on him, "I, I'm sure there are... _hundreds_ of masters who are proper Council material. Much more, uhm, deserving? Of a seat. Than me."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said in a gentle voice, "Councillors aren't given seats for being the wisest or most accomplished jedi in the Order, they're given seats because they bring a perspective that's sorely needed to matters involving the Order. You're a clever and observant young man, and I know you'll only grow more so in future; the Council would be lucky to count your voice among their number."

Obi-Wan flushed and ducked his head, shoulders hunching inward. "As you say, Master," he mumbled.

Qui-Gon sent Feemor a pained look, one that very clearly said, 'This is my fault and I don't know how to fix it'.

Feemor huffed. "Well, _one_ of the two of us should end up on the Council, now, just so we can turn Qui-Gon's nightmares into reality."

" _Feemor_ ," Qui-Gon growled, unimpressed.

But Obi-Wan let out a quiet, choked-off giggle and peeked up to flash Feemor a small smile. "We could suggest it as a way to return on all the headaches Master has caused the Council."

"Master Windu would probably jump at the chance," Feemor agreed.

"Throne room. Both of you. _Now_ ," Qui-Gon ordered, giving them not-so-gentle shoves in the proper direction.

Obi-Wan tried very hard to hide his grin, but Feemor didn't bother trying to be surreptitious with his chuckling, and he got a Force-push from his former master in retaliation.

Skywalker wasn't the only one waiting for them with the intention of watching their practice: Two of the handmaidens—'Padmé' and the young woman Feemor was fairly certain answered to Rabé—and Captain Panaka were waiting just inside the throne room, Skywalker standing close to 'Padmé' and telling her and the other handmaiden about how using the Force to bin your food wrappers was inappropriate.

"Try not to share _all_ our secrets," Qui-Gon requested drily, as he entered the room.

Skywalker, flushed and ducked his head. "Sorry, Mr Qui-Gon."

"It's okay," Qui-Gon promised, then set about ensuring their audience would remain safely out of the way, while Obi-Wan and Feemor started stretching.

"Mind your jumps," Feemor warned, eyeing the height of the ceiling.

Obi-Wan sniffed. "It's for the best that I'm the one focussing on Ataru; you and Qui-Gon would crack your heads as soon as your feet left the ground."

Feemor raised an eyebrow. "Really."

Obi-Wan shrugged, the sparkle in his eyes belying the nonchalant air he was exuding.

As much as Feemor should have liked to make him eat those words—it was hardly the first time he'd fought using Ataru in a room with a low ceiling, and this one wasn't even _that low_ —he knew he needed to focus on using Soresu, instead; he'd have to make his brother-padawan eat his words some other time.

The first twenty minutes or so were an absolute speeder wreck. For all Feemor had the _memories_ of three years using Soresu on the field, he lacked the muscle memory, and Qui-Gon was clearly struggling with using an unfamiliar form, himself. Obi-Wan, for his part, seemed to be struggling as much with matching Qui-Gon's change in form, as he was incorporating a third fighter into their pair's teamwork.

"Stop," Qui-Gon finally ordered, and they all flicked off their lightsabres and straightened, taking the chance to breathe.

Feemor shook his head. "Maybe you should just stick with Ataru, Master; I think we're trying to change too much of your familiar dynamic all at once."

"I'll _get it_ ," Obi-Wan insisted, expression twisted with self-flagellation.

Qui-Gon sighed and reached over to squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder. "It's not just you, Padawan." He withdrew his hand to stroke over his beard a couple times, then said, "Right. All of us, Makashi's first kata." Then he snapped his lightsabre back on and settled into the correct position.

Feemor sighed and followed suit, with Obi-Wan a slightly uncertain half-step behind him. "You've run Makashi before, right?" he had to ask.

"As an initiate," Obi-Wan agreed, grimacing.

Feemor shook his head; he didn't doubt their master's distaste for the form had kept Obi-Wan from practising it any after he'd been accepted as Qui-Gon's padawan.

Qui-Gon ran them all through Makashi's kata sets three times, and by the time he let them all relax, Feemor felt like his movements were a lot smoother, less hesitant, and Obi-Wan looked a lot more relaxed and sure of himself than he had done at the start.

"Water?" 'Padmé' offered, motioning to where Rabé and the last handmaiden were stopped in the doorway, holding glasses of water.

"Much obliged," Feemor replied with a grateful smile, and the three of them accepted and drained the glasses.

Once the two handmaidens had accepted the empty glasses and turned to leave, Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon and guessed, "Soresu?"

"Soresu," Qui-Gon agreed.

Obi-Wan sighed, but shifted into Soresu's starting stance with far more familiarity than he had done Makashi's.

Three repetitions of Soresu's kata-series left Feemor feeling far more secure in the form. There was no way he'd be as good as he'd been after three years of using it, but at least he wouldn't be constantly catching himself slipping into an Ataru move.

Qui-Gon had them run through Ataru twice, after Soresu, and by the time they finished, the two handmaidens had returned with water for them, and Skywalker had apparently got bored, because he'd vanished.

"He's talking with R2-D2," the handmaiden whose name Feemor didn't know said when Qui-Gon enquired after the boy's whereabouts. "I'm fairly certain I heard him say he was going to build his own lightsabre."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Of course he is."

"I'm sure the design will prove most unique," Feemor offered diplomatically.

"At least he's missing a key component," Obi-Wan muttered.

"There is that," Qui-Gon agreed. "Thank you, ladies," he added as they returned the empty glasses to the handmaidens again.

"Of course, master jedi," Rabé replied, then left again with her partner.

The three jedi returned to the centre of the room. "Let's try this again," Qui-Gon said, and they all activated their lightsabres and set about trying to work together.

It went much, _much_ smoother that time, all of them a little better about accommodating the others, and Feemor and Qui-Gon both more familiar with their chosen forms.

When they finally called an end to the practise, bowing to each other as they slipped their sabres away—and Feemor really needed to sort out his belt issue—they were all three tired and sweaty, and Feemor, at least, was debating the merits of catching a nap.

(Given his insomnia, probably not a good choice, not if he wanted any chance of sleeping before they reached Naboo.)

Qui-Gon excused himself to go find Skywalker and 'check on the status of his lightsabre', which left Feemor and Obi-Wan with 'Padmé', Captain Panaka having left ahead of the elder jedi.

"Master Feemor," 'Padmé' called before he and Obi-Wan could quit the room, and they both turned to look at her. "I couldn't help but notice you seem to be lacking a belt."

"Ah." Feemor folded his hands together inside his sleeves, grateful for the extra length that would disguise any fidgeting. "My joining the mission was rather last minute, and I'm afraid I wasn't as prepared as I should have liked to have been."

'Padmé's' mouth twisted with a wry smile. "Yes, I can understand that; if the cruiser hadn't already been stocked with a full wardrobe, Her Majesty would have run out of clothing to wear before we even reached Tatooine."

Feemor let slip a quiet chuckle. "In this, jedi may have it simpler; it's not uncommon for us to wear the same outfit for days on end."

"There's certainly less preparation involved, but I'm afraid it's not the Naboo way to wear the same thing day in and day out."

"While I can appreciate the aesthetical value in different clothing for different days or events, I'm afraid I'm far too attached to our more simplistic dress. It's easier to fight in, for one."

'Padmé' grinned outright, at that. "We do have clothing for fighting in, but I understand your point; the invasion would have gone much differently if Naboo were more inclined to war."

Feemor shook his head. "An inclination to peace is hardly something to be ashamed of," he insisted. "Naboo is a world that has no need for weapons, and your culture reflects that; sentients need the arts and the clean spaces of nature untarnished, just as much as they need to feel safe and cared for. And it is the greatest tragedy that the Trade Federation's greed has endangered all of those things."

'Padmé' tilted her head, considering him with intelligent brown eyes. "Yes," she said quietly, before shaking her head. "As to your belt, I believe there's something that will suit in the security lockers, if you wanted to try them?"

Feemor gave a short bow. "If there is a belt I might borrow, I would be most grateful for it."

She smiled and turned towards the door. "I'll show you where they are."

Feemor inclined his head, but paused in following her to focus on Obi-Wan. "If you want to use the sonic or steal a couch for a nap, you're more than welcome to," he offered.

Obi-Wan blinked a little too slowly to be natural, then frowned. "You're not going to need it? The couch?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid sleep and I have a contentious relationship at the best of times; better I meditate for an hour than try to nap." He unfolded his hands so he could reach out and squeeze Obi-Wan's shoulder, smiling a bit when the padawan relaxed into the contact. "Go get some sleep, little brother; you look like you need it."

Obi-Wan huffed, but agreed, "A nap does sound like a good idea."

Feemor squeezed his shoulder, then shifted his grip to tug the padawan out of the throne room, sending him off with a gentle push towards the lift to the lower level of the ship.

'Padmé' had waited politely for him to finish talking to Obi-Wan and join her. As the padawan made his way down the hall ahead of them, she commented, "I thought the jedi didn't approve of familial attachments."

Feemor folded his hands together inside his sleeves again and shrugged. "Given the age of most initiates when they're brought to Temple, we rarely retain any memories of our birth families," he explained. "In lieu of blood relations, jedi become as family to each other. Not unlike, I expect, how you and the other handmaidens are as close as sisters?"

'Padmé' nodded her understanding.

"Over the course of our apprenticeship, our masters tend to become as parents to us, or elder siblings, depending on the age difference. As he is currently Obi-Wan's master, Qui-Gon was mine; in causal Temple terminology, that makes us akin to siblings."

"So you call him 'brother'," 'Padmé' said, nodding. "And that explains, a bit, why you didn't have any problem taking orders from Master Jinn, despite you both having the same...rank?"

Feemor shrugged. "He's been a master longer than I have, and this is _his_ mission, so I would have deferred to him anyway. But, yes, it does feel more natural to follow his directions than it would have any other master."

'Padmé' flashed him a quick, slightly apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't be asking quite so many questions."

Feemor shook his head. "It's fine. I know we jedi like to keep an air of mystery around ourselves; there's a certain amount of pleasure one derives from always leaving others guessing. But..."

He remembered the way the propaganda had started shifting, as the war drew on, questioning the jedi, their way of life, their loyalty to the Republic and her citizens, whether they would be willing to give up the power they'd been granted with an army at their beck and call. He remembered, too, the empty spaces in the crèche, the stories of parents refusing to give up their young to the jedi because of the war, or the jedi's secrecy.

He remembered a mother spitting in his face when he told her that her daughter had the potential to be a jedi; her words, _'My daughter will be raised by a mother who loves her, not you heartless droids,'_ cutting him far deeper than he would have expected, ripping away the scabs that had formed over the empty spaces where Qui-Gon and his padawans and grandpadawan should have been.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "it's time we let some of that mystery go."

'Padmé's' only response was a noncommittal hum, and then she was palming open the door to a small cabin that looked nearly identical to the one he and Qui-Gon had shared the night before, save a tall locker bolted into the wall just inside the door. The young woman tugged it open, revealing what looked to be two uniforms similar to the one Captain Panaka wore. Two belts were rolled up on a shelf, black instead of the more familiar dark brown, and lacking the narrow outer belt that gave it a little more durability, while also allowing for a thinner buckle, so it didn't dig into their stomach during some of the more acrobatic moves, but it would certainly serve him better than going without.

"Thank you, for this," he said as he picked out one of the belts.

"I'm happy to be able to help," 'Padmé' insisted with a smile.

Feemor slipped the belt around his waist and fastened it, then pulled his lightsabre out of the fold of his outer tunic, where he'd been storing it, and attached it to the belt. The clip felt a little loose, designed for the slightly thicker Order belts, but it wasn't so much so that it would slide around and be a hazard when he moved. "This is perfect," he promised. "Pass on my gratitude to Captain Panaka for me, please?"

"I'll make sure he knows," she agreed.

Feemor offered her a bow, then left her to find somewhere quiet he could meditate away the memories of that lonely future that he was trying so very hard to change.

.


	3. Never Thought You'd See the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prefacing this chapter with the warning that fight scenes have never been my forte. I did rewatch the fight with Maul while writing that scene, so hopefully it's not a complete crapshot, but I also went and added in a third person, so... Yeah. Sorry, in advance, if it's shit.

His meditation ended up lasting far longer than he'd intended it to, and by the time he'd taken a sonic shower and made his way down to the galley, where the three handmaidens were trading off telling a rapt Skywalker bits of history and mythology from Naboo, everyone had collected their evening rations.

Qui-Gon held out a ration pack to him, one eyebrow raised, when Feemor slipped into the room.

Feemor huffed quietly as he accepted it, joining the other two jedi in leaning back against the wall. "I know you're as bad as I am about skipping meals," he muttered, voice pitched to carry no further than the three of them.

"He's not wrong," Obi-Wan offered, before Qui-Gon could do more than open his mouth in an attempt to contest that.

"Hm." Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look at either of them. "I'm beginning to suspect I will regret letting you two meet."

Feemor used the act of eating his rations to hide his smile, while Obi-Wan coughed into one hand.

Once he'd finished the small serving—it was a sufficiently nutritional meal for an adult human, yes, but they were designed to take up as little space as possible, so those who needed to could carry a sufficient amount in the case of emergencies, so they didn't _feel_ filling—Obi-Wan held out his hand for the wrapper, being in easy reach of the recycling unit, and Feemor passed it over with a knowing smile.

Obi-Wan made a show of sniffing and dropping the wrapper into the unit _without_ using the Force, then turned back to Feemor, his expression going uncertain. "Can I– You said...you're a master?" he said.

"Oh, yes. I took my first padawan..." He glanced at Qui-Gon. "Six years after you started training Xanatos?" Not getting into what else happened that year, not in public.

Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly to one side, expression going considering. "That sounds about right," he decided, before quirking a smile. "And how is Ace? Is he–"

"They," Feemor corrected; ever since his first padawan had admitted, after their Trials, that they hadn't actually been comfortable with their birth pronouns, but hadn't realised that was the actual cause of their discomfort until they'd had to face themself, he'd got very good at correcting other people for Ace's sake.

"Apologies. Are they still beating other pilots' records just to prove they can?"

Feemor chuckled and shook his head. "Not so much, any more. They took a padawan, Vega, about five years ago? And she's mellowed them a fair bit."

Qui-Gon let out a slightly startled breath. "Force. When did I get old enough to have a great-grandpadawan?"

"Five years ago," Feemor replied without any sympathy.

Obi-Wan coughed into a fist, amusement lighting the Force around him.

Feemor grimaced as a thought occurred to him. "I'm...not certain Vega knows about you," he told his former master. "And I only told Wangui about Master Je'dyannder."

"Master–?" Obi-Wan prompted, while Qui-Gon closed his eyes, regret leaking from him into the Force.

"Je'dyannder," Feemor repeated. "She was my original master, but she died while on a solo mission six years into my apprenticeship. Qui-Gon took me on to complete my training."

"Oh."

"And Wangui is my current padawan," he added. "Actually, she might know about you, now, assuming she annoyed Kei or Rún into telling her about the jedi I was so worried about."

Qui-Gon sighed. "I foresee an extremely uncomfortable lineage dinner in my future."

Obi-Wan snorted.

"Master," Feemor said, turning a flat look on his former master, "I am not saving your life just so you can poison me with one of your cooking experiments."

"I only did that _once_ ," Qui-Gon complained.

"It's been least twice, then," Obi-Wan corrected, and Feemor couldn't stop a chuckle at the offended air the eldest jedi adopted. "And I can cook, don't worry."

"So can Ace and Wangui," Feemor offered. "We can do a potluck. Just, if Master Yoda gets invited, we can't _tell him_ it's a potluck, or he'll bring swamp stew and make everyone have some."

"Noted," Obi-Wan said, nose wrinkled in disgust; clearly, he'd had an opportunity to try their great-grandmaster's infamous stew. "What about Master...Yan?"

"No," Qui-Gon said without hesitation.

Feemor frowned, remembering how Yan's reason for leaving the Order had been Qui-Gon's death. (Or, at least, that had been the final blow, after a decade of him arguing with the Council about their attachment to the Senate.) There was no guarantee that he wouldn't end up leaving the Order and Falling again, even if Qui-Gon survived, but if there was even the _slightest_ chance he would stay...

"If he knows Yoda is invited, he absolutely won't come," he told Obi-Wan.

" _Feemor_ ," Qui-Gon said, clearly disapproving.

Feemor looked up and caught his gaze. "Master Yan deserves a second chance, too," he said quietly.

Qui-Gon sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

Obi-Wan glanced between them with an uncertain expression. "You, you did say he isn't in Temple much," he said to Feemor.

" _Such_ an uncomfortable dinner," Qui-Gon muttered, then let out a sigh and promised, "I'll extend an invitation to him."

"If it makes you feel better, I'm fairly certain he'll hate Wangui's hair more than yours," Feemor offered.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow at him. "Master Feemor, I sincerely hope you didn't urge your padawan to adopt a specific hair style _just_ to get on your grandmaster's nerves."

" _Urge_ , no," Feemor replied while Obi-Wan ducked his head a little too slowly to hide his grin. " _Facilitating_ her interest in trying a new style, however, I might be a little guilty of."

Qui-Gon shook his head, his expression disapproving. As if his delighted amusement wasn't completely obvious in the Force; Feemor _had_ come by the bad habit of doing things to annoy Yan honestly.

"This dinner is either going to be a speeder wreck, or an absolute delight," Obi-Wan decided, laughter in his voice.

Feemor was fairly certain it was going to be a speeder wreck, but he would do everything he could to ensure it happened. Because the dinner would mean he'd managed to save Qui-Gon, and he couldn't imagine _not_ wanting that.

Skywalker called over with a question about something he'd overheard during his brief visit to the Temple, and Qui-Gon stepped towards the table to answer him, leaving Obi-Wan and Feemor to each other.

"Did he apologise to you?" Feemor had to ask, keeping his voice pitched low.

Obi-Wan ducked his head and nodded.

Feemor eyed him, considering the swirl of discomfort and uncertainty he could just barely sense in the Force; the young man had some truly impressive shields. He slid along the wall, usurping Qui-Gon's spot between them, and dropped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "You're allowed to be mad at him, still," he whispered.

"I'm not...mad," Obi-Wan whispered back.

Feemor leant forward a bit so Obi-Wan could actually see his sceptical eyebrow.

Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped a fraction and he leant into Feemor's arm. "I think...I'm too hurt to be mad," he admitted, and it sounded like he'd had to force the words out, just a bit.

"Ah." Feemor tightened his arm around the younger jedi, and was rewarded by Obi-Wan relaxing just the slightest bit more. "That...doesn't ever really go away, I'm afraid." He should know; the wounds of being cast aside had survived Qui-Gon's death, war, and _still_ ached, even though he'd finally got a long overdue apology for his thoughtless cruelty. "It just gets easier to live with."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know."

Feemor tightened his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders again, not sure he wanted to know why his brother-padawan sounded _so sure_ about that. What other cruelties had Qui-Gon dumped on Obi-Wan's shoulders while Feemor had been keeping his distance? How much pain could he have saved Obi-Wan from if he'd just been a _little_ less of a coward?

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered, breathing out a knot of self-recrimination. "I knew what he could be like; I should have been there for you."

"It's okay," Obi-Wan whispered.

"It's _not_."

Obi-Wan turned his head just enough to peek up at Feemor out of the corner of one eye, which looked red and a little too shiny, but there was, too, the gleam of an emotion that Feemor couldn't quite parse, but made him think of the sun coming out from behind dark clouds. "You're here now," Obi-Wan said, just a hint of a question in the words.

Feemor threw all thoughts of decorum out the airlock and pulled his brother-padawan into a hug. "Yeah," he whispered against the side of Obi-Wan's head. "I'm here now, and I will be until you get sick of me."

Obi-Wan hugged him back, tight and maybe the slightest bit desperate. 

Qui-Gon came back over after a moment and quietly asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said as he pulled away, and Feemor politely pretended he didn't see the padawan quickly wipe his sleeve past his eyes.

Qui-Gon turned a questioning look on Feemor, and he nodded; they were as okay as they were going to be.

"Is it time to retire for the night?" Obi-Wan asked, and Feemor looked past Qui-Gon to find the handmaidens had all cleared out, and Skywalker was pulling out some blankets and pillows from where they'd apparently been shoved in the hollow of the bench.

"We're expecting to drop out of hyperspace in a little over ten hours," Qui-Gon replied, before reaching out and dropping a hand onto both of their nearer shoulders. "Get what sleep you can; I don't expect we'll have much time for rest once we've landed."

"Not if the queen's plan works out," Feemor agreed drily.

They traded good nights, then Feemor and Qui-Gon retired to the cabin, moving easily around each other again as they got prepared for the night and lay down on their couches.

After he'd used the Force to turn the lights out, Qui-Gon said, "Feemor? If the worst happens, and I don't survive this..."

Feemor squeezed his eyes shut, his chest aching at the thought of failing at this second chance. "I know," he said, because he had a pretty good idea what his former master wanted to ask. "He's my brother; we'll have each other, no matter what."

The breath Qui-Gon let out sounded like the relief of a massive weight dropping off his shoulders. "Thank you."

"But, Master?" Feemor had to say.

"Do my best _not_ to die?"

"That."

"There's a lineage dinner I have no intention in missing, never you worry, Padawan."

Feemor smiled into the darkness and closed his eyes to sleep, clinging tight to that promise.

BREAK

Somehow, improbably, Queen Amidala's plan worked out.

(And Feemor may have used the Force to give himself a pat on the back, because he'd _known_ 'Padmé' was the real queen.)

Getting into the palace hanger turned out to be a lot easier than Feemor would have expected, and while they lost a couple of pilots to the droids that had been lying in wait, most of them made it into ships and out past the droid tank attempting to shoot them down, heading to, with any luck, take out the droid control ship and keep the Gungans from being wiped out.

As they turned to head into the palace, however, the sith made his entrance, and the three jedi stepped forward to face him, while the queen and her party turned off to take another route.

Feemor had never had occasion to meet his brother-padawan's nemesis, though he'd been well aware that the Zabrak had survived their initial encounter and re-emerged during the war, killing anyone and everyone he thought might serve to hurt Obi-Wan.

If he had his way, Maul would not be surviving this fight a second time.

Maul seemed to hesitate for a moment, upon finding himself facing three jedi, and Feemor allowed himself a mean grin at the thought of throwing the sith off his stride.

But then Qui-Gon was rushing forward, stepping in close, trying to get past the lightstaff's guard with a series of Makashi steps, while Obi-Wan took a running leap, doing an Ataru flip over Maul to block an attack, and then switching into a Makashi jab once he was back on the ground.

Maul twisted out of the way, barely, and he flashed a nasty grin when his dodge left Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon having to hurriedly correct to keep from hitting each other.

Feemor took his cue and stepped in, borrowing an aggressive attack from Ataru, then easing back into a Soresu guard when the sith managed to deflect the strike, his momentum bringing the opposite end of the staff around to strike against Feemor's blade.

And then Obi-Wan was next to him, striking low to the side, and Maul was spinning away, stumbling as he had to correct to avoid both a fallen droid and Qui-Gon's rapid-fire strikes as he rushed past Feemor and Obi-Wan to engage.

The moment Maul waved a broken piece of droid to activate a door, Feemor realised, "He's trying to lead us!"

The space behind the now-opened door was lined with narrow catwalks going down multiple levels; hardly the sort of space one would want to be performing Ataru acrobatics in.

"Fall back!" Qui-Gon ordered, and both he and Obi-Wan stepped back from the sith, towards where Feemor had fallen behind a few steps, both of them resettling themselves into Soresu stances, a clear show they intended to stand their ground in the hanger.

Maul snarled and rushed forward, a wave of dark Force energy blasting out ahead of him and causing all three to stumble.

Somehow, Feemor managed to get his sabre up to block Maul's blow, but the strength behind the blow hit hard, throwing him even more off balance, and he let himself drop to the ground, flicking his sabre off as he curled forward so he could roll past the sith.

Agony lanced up his spine, and Feemor couldn't quite hold in his scream, so much worse than any blaster bolt.

"Feemor!" Obi-Wan shouted, and then he was standing over him, stance wide to accommodate Feemor, but still grounded enough to withstand Maul's blows without giving a centimetre.

Qui-Gon must have stepped in to lead Maul away a bit, because Obi-Wan dropped to his knees next to Feemor and grabbed at his shoulder, his eyes wide and terrified when Feemor made himself look up to meet them.

" _Go_ ," Feemor hissed.

Obi-Wan gave a jerky nod, then he was up and away, leaving Feemor to close his eyes and drop himself into a healing trance, trusting the other two to keep the sith away while he was impaired.

He missed the end of the battle, but the warmth of his former master's palm on his shoulder was what pulled him from the trance, and Obi-Wan's worried expression was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, so he knew they must have won.

"Thank the Force," he whispered.

"That we're all still alive?" Qui-Gon asked, and he sounded tired, but he was _alive_. "Yes. Can you move?"

Feemor clenched his jaw and drew the Force around himself to block out the worst of the pain, then pushed his hands against the floor and shoved himself up.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon caught at his shoulders, their hold firm but careful, and they managed to get him sitting upright, legs stretched out ahead of him. "How bad?" he gasped past the pain.

"Bad," Obi-Wan said, his voice heavy with upset.

"He missed your spine, _barely_ ," Qui-Gon said, and Feemor closed his eyes, not sure whether he was feeling relief or not; at least severing his spine could have lessened some of the affected pain receptors. "I would rather you not try walking until a healer's had a proper look at it."

Feemor nodded; honestly, he wasn't certain he could manage to stand, never mind attempt to walk. "Agreed. I'll be fine here, if you want to go after Amidala."

Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder, then withdrew. "Stay with him," he ordered Obi-Wan.

"Yes, Master."

Feemor tracked Qui-Gon's Force presence as he hurried in the direction the queen and her party had gone, then said, "I need a wall to lean against."

Obi-Wan's mouth went tight and he cast a quick look around. "They're all a bit of a distance."

Feemor huffed, then winced as his back flared with pain again. "Kriff. Just– Can you lift me, with the Force?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, but not in a no manner. "I'm an idiot. Hold on."

Obi-Wan was as gentle as it was possible to be, but even _breathing_ hurt, and Feemor took the chance to close his eyes and rest against the wall once he was set back down.

"Is Maul dead?" he asked once he felt a little steadier.

"Maul?"

"The, the sith. Darth Maul."

Obi-Wan blinked, evidently uncertain what to do with Feemor knowing their opponent's name, then his gaze went past him. "Yes. I, I took his head."

Feemor breathed out the the last lingering traces of his worry. "Good job."

"Is it?" Obi-Wan asked, and when Feemor looked at him, he found him worrying his braid between his fingers. "I know he's, he was a sith, and they don't– History says they don't surrender, they fight to the death, but if..."

Feemor reached out and caught Obi-Wan's hands, stilling them. "Obi-Wan, little brother, listen to me. If Maul survived this, he would have gone on to kill hundreds, if not _thousands_ of sentients, including any number of other jedi. And those of us who fought him here, today? Sith believe in vengeance, they practically _live_ by it, and anyone we care about—padawans, grandpadawans, friends inside the Order and out—they would have become targets, just another way to break us down and drag us to their level.

"Taking a life is never easy, and it–" he swallowed "–it should never be your _goal_. But, sometimes, it _is_ the most desirable outcome."

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression troubled. "But, what if I killed him for the wrong reasons?"

Feemor frowned at that. "What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his gaze, even though he looked like he really didn't want to. "When you cried out, when he was about to kill you, I was so..." He shook his head, eyes skittering away. "I was _angry_. He _hurt_ you, and you said he would have killed Master, if you hadn't come with, and I just, I wanted to–"

"Stop him from hurting anyone ever again, no matter the cost?" Feemor suggested quietly.

Obi-Wan gave a jerky nod.

Feemor sighed. "Could you lower your shields for me for a moment?"

That apparently surprised Obi-Wan, because he looked at him again. "My shields?"

"Your extremely impressive, senior knight-level shields, yes."

Obi-Wan pinked ever so slightly, but obediently lowered his shields enough to let Feemor get a proper sense of his Force presence for the first time.

He couldn't stop a smile at the sheer _light_ that burned through his brother-padawan's core. There were some small patches of darkness, certainly, but all jedi had those, especially after a traumatic experience. (It had become a common affliction during the war, to the point that jedi who could, would joint meditate and help smooth over some of the dark patches, because the mind healers were simply too overworked to help everyone. Truly, it was a bit of a miracle that they had lost fewer than three dozen jedi to the dark side.)

"I don't know that protectiveness is a bad reason to have killed him," he said, shaking away the memories of darker days. "Maybe you _were_ angry, but I don't see any of that in you now. Relief, certainly, and regret, but no anger, no sense of victory." He shifted his hand from Obi-Wan's over his braid, to rest against his chest, over his heart. "You're allowed to feel anger, even to let it drive your actions, to a point. So long as, when it's over, you don't hold onto it. And you didn't."

Feemor hadn't realised how tensely Obi-Wan had been holding himself until he relaxed, letting out a relieved breath. "Right."

Feemor smiled a bit helplessly at the padawan. "I don't think you're in _any_ danger of following Xanatos' path, little brother."

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted in a smile that looked like it hurt, but before they could speak any further, they were interrupted by the return of the Naboo starfighters.

There followed a lot of cheering and a confusing mess of voices all attempting to talk over each other as the pilots landed in their bays and jumped out to celebrate with each other. Skywalker, somehow, was the centre of all the attention, and that was probably the only reason that, when he noticed Feemor and Obi-Wan, the celebration immediately switched tracks to sending out teams to find a stretcher and medical team, with another team going after Qui-Gon and the queen, since they hadn't heard anything either way about them.

"Are you going to be okay, Mr Feemor?" Skywalker asked, wringing his hands in his lap. He'd been left with Obi-Wan and Feemor; for all the pilots had been quick to celebrate his achievements in the air, they had eventually cottoned on that he was just a youngling and should probably be left somewhere relatively out of danger and with someone capable of keeping him safe, while more adult-minded matters were seen through.

"I'm not going to die," Feemor replied with what he hoped was a soothing smile. "I suspect I'll be trapped in the Halls of Healing for a couple weeks, once we get back to Temple, however."

"Which of the healers did you escape from to come with us?" Obi-Wan asked.

Feemor winced. "Master Che."

Obi-Wan snorted. "You'll be lucky if she doesn't tie you to a bed for the next _month_."

Yes, Feemor was rather trying not to think about that.

The stretcher arrived with good news: The viceroy had been captured and was being made to negotiate a treaty that favoured the Naboo, which Qui-Gon was attending as a jedi observer. He had suggested that Obi-Wan and Skywalker remain with Feemor for the time being, so they came along with to the palace's medical wing.

Feemor suffered some concerned noises from the medical staff that had been freed from the closest camp, answered their questions about his pain levels as best he could, then spent almost four minutes arguing against them giving him a sedative.

Finally, Obi-Wan had interrupted, saying, "Feemor is a _jedi master_. If he says he'll do better without a sedative, he _doesn't need a sedative_. Arguing with him about it isn't going to change things."

The medic let out a disgusted noise and threw his hands up in the air. " _Fine_! Be miserable! See if I care!" And then he stormed out of the curtained off area around Feemor's bed.

"He's just _rude_ ," Skywalker muttered, scowling after the man.

"He's probably spent the last week in an internment camp, trying to keep people alive without sufficient supplies," Feemor replied tiredly, and Skywalker winced, ducking his head down towards his chest. "I'm going to trance down again," he told Obi-Wan. "Bring me out of it if anything happens that I need to be aware of."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course."

"What does 'trance down' mean?" Skywalker asked as Feemor closed his eyes and let himself fall back into the familiar embrace of the Force, leaving it for the padawan to explain jedi healing trances to the boy.

BREAK

Obi-Wan brought him out of his trance when Qui-Gon arrived. The man looked a little haggard, but he was smiling when Feemor gingerly sat up, preferring to be able to turn and see everyone, rather than continue lying on his front for the conversation.

"I don't remember your healing trances being quite so effective last time I saw you using one," Qui-Gon commented.

"That was a long time ago," Feemor returned, wincing a bit when the words came out more bitter than he'd intended.

(In truth, though, this skill had been honed by war; jedi who couldn't trance down quickly, or had no real skill directing the energy of the Force to speed their own healing, weren't as likely to survive until rescue could arrive.)

Qui-Gon sighed and inclined his head, a clear agreement that Feemor's strike had hit true. "With luck, you'll be on your feet before the Council gets here, then; I don't think you'd appreciate being trapped in a hospital bed while Mace and Yoda questioned your actions."

Feemor grimaced. "Not particularly."

"Masters Yoda and Windu are coming here?" Obi-Wan asked, clearly surprised. "Why not just wait for us to return to the Temple?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "Well, our original transport is no longer space-worthy, for one."

Obi-Wan snorted.

"And, given Feemor's wounds and the remains of the sith, it will almost certainly be faster for members of the Council to come to Naboo, than for us to find passage back to Coruscant."

"You can't borrow a ship from Padmé?" Skywalker asked from where he'd dragged one of the provided chairs over to the window that happened to be within Feemor's curtained-off area.

"While I am certain that Her Majesty would lend us a ship," Qui-Gon replied diplomatically, "we would have no way to return it to her."

"They may find themselves in need of whatever ships are currently accessible and space-worthy," Feemor added. "We don't know exactly how much damage the Trade Federation's occupation did to their fleet."

"Oh."

Qui-Gon inclined his head when Feemor looked back over at him. "Those Council members intending to travel should arrive within the next two days; their temperaments will keep until then. For our part, Her Majesty has given us a suite in the palace, and is quite insistent that we take the time to relax. There are certainly rebuilding efforts Obi-Wan and I can assist with, but the political matters are settled until Senate officials arrive to take the Neimoidians into custody.

Feemor resisted the urge to insist he could _also_ help with rebuilding efforts; lightsabre wounds weren't something you just bounced back from, jedi healing trance to speed up the process or no, and he'd suffered enough blaster wounds over the course of the war to have a pretty good idea of his body's limits.

Skywalker, however, had no such self-control, and immediately asked, "Well, what about _me_? I can help, too!"

"I think, for today, it would be best to all take the granted reprieve," Obi-Wan suggested diplomatically.

Qui-Gon nodded. "Just so. We'll look into finding something for you to do tomorrow, Ani."

Skywalker slumped a bit in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine," he muttered.

"Feemor, I leave it to your judgement as to whether you'd prefer to remain here tonight, or attempt to make it to our suite."

Feemor sighed and shook his head. As much as he disliked being held in the clutches of medical staff, he also knew better than to put unnecessary strain on a wound like his. "I'll stay here tonight. Re-evaluate in the morning."

Qui-Gon raised a knowing eyebrow, but only agreed, "Of course. We'll leave you to your rest, then."

"If you see a medic on your way out, send them in here?" Feemor requested, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both nodded.

The medic who came in after they had managed to usher Skywalker away from the window, was a different one than before, and she was far less high-strung. When he asked after food, she promised to bring him a light dinner, and then asked, "Are you still refusing sedatives, Master Jedi?"

Feemor sighed. "Yes." He debated for a moment, then explained, "If I'm conscious, I can put myself into a light trance to focus my energy on healing my wounds."

She blinked a few times, processing, before stepping forward. "I'd like to take a look at your back, please."

Feemor obediently leant forward over his legs, wincing when the movement shot a sharp pain through the damaged part of his back. Still, it was lightyears better than it had been earlier, and he was fairly certain that, if he spent the night in a trance, he would be fairly close to completely healed, come morning. Which was far better timing than he would have expected, based on his efforts during the war.

(But, then, he was thirteen years younger, and it was possible he'd been unknowingly borrowing some energy from Obi-Wan or Skywalker; he wasn't used to having other Force-sensitives around when he went into a healing trance.)

"Well," the medic said after a long moment, stepping back. "That's remarkable. From what Eugene said, I would have put your recovery at no less than a week, and that's _if_ we managed to get one of the bacta tanks up here from the main hospital. I'd still like to put you in the tank, to help lessen the worst of the scarring, but I suspect you'll be able to walk down to the main hospital under your own power by this time tomorrow."

"Very likely," Feemor agreed, inclining his head.

She shook her head. "Remind me never to question a jedi about their medical requirements again," she muttered, and Feemor chuckled. "Just so the overnight team knows, is there anything you're likely to need, or any instructions for them?"

"Ah, no. It should appear that I'm simply sleeping. Someone shaking me, or making a loud noise in my vicinity will bring me from the trance, not unlike how it would wake someone who is sleeping. Interruptions slow the process, so I would prefer to remain undisturbed, but I do recognise that some things are out of all our control."

She nodded. "I'll make sure the night team know to let you be, then. And I'll go grab you some food, now, so you can get back to it."

"Thank you."

The evening meal was a far cry better than what he would have expected to receive in the Halls, and Feemor marked that as a point in Naboo's favour as he finished and set the tray down on the small stand that had been left next to the bed for that very purpose.

He did take the chance to, rather gingerly, take a trip to the nearest 'fresher to empty his bladder, as much to test his mobility as anything, then returned to his curtained off alcove and lay down, closing his eyes and giving himself back to the Force for the night.

BREAK

He did end up taking a trip to Theed's main hospital, the next afternoon, to take a dip in their bacta tank. He was probably healed enough not to need it, but was quick to agree with the palace medic that it was a necessity to lessen the scarring's impact on his mobility. (He wasn't a fan of being immersed in bacta tanks, but it was something he'd had to get used to during the war, as it was both quicker and more effective than using spot treatments.)

No one was in the suite when he finally found it—he'd had to ask three different people for directions, because navigating Naboo's palace was an adventure—and he debated, for a long moment, going out to see if he could help, before deciding he would be better served taking the day to relax.

So he comm'd the Temple, intending to check in with Wangui, only for her to not answer their room comms. So he comm'd Kei, instead, since he was more likely to pick up than Rún.

_"Look, he lives,"_ Kei said as soon as the call connected.

Feemor very obviously rolled his eyes, and Kei flashed him a mean grin. "I do, thanks for checking. Do you know why my padawan isn't answering?"

_"The padawan who is currently in hyperspace?"_

Feemor blinked a couple times. "I– Wait. Wangui is coming _here_?"

_"No, she's leaving the Order because you_ abandoned her _,"_ Kei shot back, tone sharp.

Feemor winced. "I'm not going to apologise for leaving, Kei."

_"You could have, I don't know,_ woken me up _!"_

"You thought I was crazy," Feemor returned flatly, and Kei looked away. "Or had a nightmare, or something."

_"You don't_ get _visions, Fee,"_ Kei insisted. _"What else are we supposed to think?"_

"The Force works in mysterious ways," Feemor said in as serene a voice as he could manage.

Kei's left eye twitched, a disgusted grimace twisting his mouth. _"Kriff you."_

"No thank you."

Kei sighed and ran a hand down his face, holding it over his mouth for a moment, like he thought that would keep Feemor from knowing he was trying to hide a smile at his automatic, familiar response. _"Arsehole. You still should have woken me up. Or comm'd your karking padawan before you left the system. We spent almost five hours in a panic, trying to find your stupid face, before the troll heard about our search and said you'd left the Temple with Jinn."_

Feemor winced. "Sorry. I...wasn't thinking." Wasn't used to having anyone alive to worry about his whereabouts, save Kei and Yoda, and Yoda was always involved in giving him his deployment orders, while Kei's in-Temple information network had expanded to such a degree, during the war, that he often knew when Feemor's orders were changing before _he_ did.

_"_ That _was kriffing obvious."_

Feemor sighed, then offered, "I punched Qui-Gon in the face?"

Kei's eyes went wide, and then he let out a cheer.

Someone sighed outside of the image pickup, and Kei's padawan, Marcus, asked, _"Who did you prank this time, Master?"_ in a tired, resigned sort of voice.

_"Not me, this time, padawan-mine,"_ Kei replied, before flashing Feemor a wide, slightly manic grin. _"Was it everything I could have hoped for? Did you break his nose?"_

Feemor snorted. "I don't think so, no. Though, he did stumble back through an automatic door and it closed behind him, so he may have just healed it before he came back in."

_"I wish I'd been there,"_ Kei said, letting out a slightly wistful sigh. _"Seeing you finally stand up for yourself–"_

"Ah." Feemor winced and glanced down at his hands, folding them carefully in his lap.

Kei _sighed_. _"Fee. Tell me you punched him because he repudiated_ you _, not because he did something to someone else."_

Feemor sighed. "He repudiated Obi-Wan."

Kei went still, his expression slowly morphing to disgust. _"Will you let me drug him, strip him, and hang him from the top of the Council tower_ now _?"_

"No."

_"Dammit, Fee! You can't just keep letting his shit go!"_

"I'm not–" Feemor let out a frustrated huff and ran a hand through his hair. " _Look_. I know he's, that he's hurt me. And he's pulling some of the same shit on Obi-Wan. But I'm not– I– Argh!"

_"You're what? Going to keep lying back and taking it?"_

Feemor shot his friend a disgusted look. "First off, he's my _master_ , and that's disgusting."

_"Calling it like I see it."_

" _Second_ ," Feemor continued, refusing to acknowledge that, "what, _exactly_ , is stripping him and hanging him from the Council tower supposed to accomplish?"

_"Well, it would make me_ feel better _."_

Feemor rubbed a hand over his face, muttering, "Stupid question," to himself before straightening and folding his hands together in his lap. "Fine. Well done. You feel better, he's embarrassed and has no idea who to blame it on, _who do you think has to deal with his bad mood_?"

Kei's expression went carefully blank. _"Oh."_ And then he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. _"Not pretty boy's problem any more, is it?"_

"Well, he didn't _mean_ to repudiate Obi-Wan."

_"Oh, that makes everything better, then."_

"Would you–" Feemor let out a frustrated noise.

_"No, I will_ not _just 'let this go',"_ Kei snapped before Feemor could get the words out.

In the background, a door opened.

_"That Hutt-spawn broke your kriffing_ heart _, and I am not just going to 'move on', especially not if he's kriffing_ done it again _!"_

"Ah," Qui-Gon said, because the door had apparently been on Feemor's end, not Marcus escaping his master's familiar rant. "I assume this is about me, then."

Feemor closed his eyes and rubbed tiredly at them.

Kei, uncharacteristically, was silent.

(Or, perhaps, it was very in character for him; he tended to implement his various misdeeds only when he was certain he wouldn't be caught.)

"Kei, I'll see you when we get back to Temple," Feemor said into the silence, and hit the button to end the call before Kei could respond. He couldn't bring himself to look over at his former master, ducking his head and staring down at where he had clasped his hands in his lap.

Qui-Gon sighed. "I'm glad to see you up," he offered.

Feemor tried on a wry smile. "You know me, happy to get away from the healers at the first opportunity."

Instead of taking the offer of the old joke, Qui-Gon sighed again, the sound tired. "I...don't know how to fix this. Kimura's right, I hurt you, and it being unintentional doesn't make it acceptable."

Feemor shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "it doesn't. But, unlike Kei—and you—I've forgiven you."

"I'm not sure you should have," Qui-Gon admitted, and the words sounded like they _hurt_.

Feemor glanced up, taking in the grief and regret painted across his former master's expression, the slump to his usually-strong shoulders. "It's not for you, or anyone else, to decide when I forgive someone, Master." He stood from the bench in front of the communication station and brushed his hands over the pale blue tunic he'd been given when leaving the medical wing, since his borrowed tunics hadn't survived the duel with Maul intact. "Attending your memorial service put a lot of things into perspective; it's not worth remaining angry with a dead man."

Qui-Gon flinched.

"If it makes you feel better," Feemor offered, letting his much newer anger sharpen his voice, "I am still very inclined to punch you again for Obi-Wan's sake."

Qui-Gon sent him a tired look. "I think Obi-Wan is capable of doing that himself."

"Like I was?" Feemor couldn't stop from asking, and Qui-Gon looked away. "I'm not _going_ to punch you again, not unless you kark up further, but I'm also not going to forgive you any time soon."

"That's...fair," Qui-Gon decided.

"Glad we agree."

Qui-Gon cast him a tired, slightly chastising look, to which Feemor raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. He shook his head, then pointed to one of the doors leading off from the common space. "That's your room. Ani is next to you, then Obi-Wan, then me. There's a shared 'fresher between yours and Ani's rooms."

Feemor nodded his understanding. "Kei told me that Wangui is coming with the Council, so we might have to reshuffle a bit when they arrive, assuming we're not all immediately ordered back to Temple."

"We'll worry about that jump when we reach it," Qui-Gon decided, and Feemor snorted in agreement. "Her Majesty has extended us an invitation to join her for dinner tonight, if you wanted to attend. If not, the comm code to request something from the kitchens is next to the panel."

Feemor had seen the list of important comm codes when he'd sat down to comm the Temple, though he hadn't studied it with any intent, far more focussed with checking in on his padawan. "I'm fine to join the queen for dinner."

Qui-Gon nodded. "I'll pass on that we'll all be there, then. We have approximately two hours before we're expected."

"I assume there's water showers?"

Qui-Gon snorted and shook his head. "Yes. There should be a bathtub, too."

A _bathtub_? Force, Feemor honestly couldn't _remember_ the last time he'd had the time to relax in a bathtub. "Right. I'm taking a bath."

Qui-Gon's laughter followed him as he retreated to the room that was his.

BREAK

The dinner with Queen Amidala ended up being a far less formal event than any of the jedi had really expected, all three of them more familiar with state meals full of political double-speak and currying favours.

What the queen provided, was a long buffet table covered in a multitude of food options, and a handful of small tables scattered around, where they could sit and eat in smaller groups.

"I hope you don't mind the informal setting," Amidala said when she approached them. She was dressed in her handmaiden disguise, and a quick look around the room showed that she wasn't the only one there, though there was a distinct lack of an obvious queen. "This is easier on the serving staff, and I'm not certain anyone has much energy for formality today."

"An informal meal is quite fine, Your Majesty," Qui-Gon promised.

Amidala grimaced. " _Padmé_ ," she insisted.

"Padmé," Qui-Gon corrected.

She smiled her thanks, then turned to Feemor. "Master Feemor, it's a relief to see you back on your feet," she said, and the Force around her was warm with honesty. "When I heard how badly you'd been hurt..." She shook her head.

"I'm no healer, but I have enough of a talent with healing through the Force to keep myself going," Feemor offered with a slight bow. "Wounds dealt by a lightsabre, while painful to bear and disheartening to look at, are actually much quicker to heal than blaster bolts."

"It...worries me that you know this," Amidala admitted, her mouth twisted with discontent. "I thought a jedi ambassador's life would have little in the way of violence."

Obi-Wan let out a quiet snort; as the padawan of one of the Order's foremost diplomats, he knew better than most how quickly a seemingly-peaceful mission could go pear-shaped because of a single dissenting voice. Which was as true for those missions taken on behalf of the Republic Senate, as those taken to mediate between two or more other factions.

"I think," Feemor said in a mild tone, "that if the events of the past week have taught us anything, it's that diplomatic missions are as able to turn into a firefight as any other. Which is why it is jedi that are sent, rather than senators or their aids."

"I...didn't even think of it that way," Amidala admitted, looking troubled. "I always thought jedi were sent on diplomatic missions because of your neutrality."

"That is true, though it is often not the only reason," Qui-Gon offered. "And, unfortunate as it is, we jedi are not always the perfect beings of neutrality that we are held up as."

"No?" the handmaiden who most often seemed to play Amidala's part as the queen said as she stepped up next to her queen's side.

Qui-Gon gave a careless shrug. "If we were truly neutral, we would not have got involved in this conflict at all, and the treaty I oversaw the drafting of would have been equally fair to both the Naboo and the Trade Federation."

"...Oh," the handmaiden said, her eyes gone a little wide.

"In that case," Amidala said wryly, "I'm grateful that you're _not_ quite so neutral." She turned to the handmaiden. "What is it, Sabé?"

"Your presence has been requested," Sabé replied in a dry tone.

Amidala sighed, then turned and inclined her head. "Master jedi, our thanks, again. Please enjoy yourselves."

Feemor and Qui-Gon both gave short bows and, as the two young women moved away, turned to try and find their missing companions. "By the buffet," Qui-Gon murmured, nodding to where Obi-Wan appeared to be doing his best to keep Skywalker from overloading his plate.

"And here I thought Anakin would have attached himself to Her– Padmé," Feemor couldn't quite stop himself from saying.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Growing boys are easily distracted by the chance to fill their bellies."

"Hm."

Qui-Gon cast him a sideways glance. "I don't believe I recall more than one or two of your missions turning into firefights."

Feemor stopped, surprised. "Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

Qui-Gon frowned slightly. "Of course." He shook his head. "You were my padawan, Feemor; I worried about you."

Feemor stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch out over years, anger and loneliness and old pain knotting up his stomach.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry."

"I lied," Feemor heard himself say. "I'm still angry with you." And then he pushed past his former master and stalked over to join Obi-Wan and Skywalker, glancing at the food briefly before deciding that, no, his stomach was not going to handle any of that well right that moment.

Obi-Wan shot him a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

"No," Feemor admitted, the word coming out a little too sharp.

Obi-Wan looked over in the direction Feemor could sense Qui-Gon in, then nodded. "Ani, let's go find somewhere to sit down."

"What about Mr Feemor?" Skywalker asked, looking up from his loaded plate with a frown.

"I think you have enough for two people," Obi-Wan replied drily, and Skywalker sent him what was probably the singularly most _offended_ look that Feemor had ever seen on someone before they hit puberty.

The laugh that escaped him was a bit of a surprise, and he reached out to ruffle Skywalker's hair as he turned the offended look on him. "I'm not very hungry right now, Anakin, that's all. I'll get something in a bit."

"Okay," Skywalker mumbled, ducking his head, but straightening his back so he didn't lose contact with Feemor's hand.

Feemor dropped his hand from Skywalker's head to rest over his nape and gently used the touch to steer them towards a nearby empty table. "So, what sort of helping did you get into today?"

Skywalker hopped up onto on the the seats with a grin, and immediately started telling Feemor all about the droid collection and dismantling team he and Obi-Wan had ended up on. Apparently, everything to do with droids was 'super wizard' and it was a little disappointing that he couldn't have any of the spare parts, because he _loved_ building droids, but the Naboo were going to melt down or repurpose everything for use in rebuilding damaged buildings, vehicles, and equipment. Which was also, apparently, 'super wizard'.

While Skywalker talked, Obi-Wan set his own plate down, then left and returned with glasses of water for all of them.

Obi-Wan finally got the boy to focus on eating when he started winding down a bit, and Feemor took the opportunity to collect some food for himself, feeling a bit more settled after listening to the boy's unending excitement about droids.

Who would have guessed that 'The General Without Fear' had been a droid maniac as a youngling?

Qui-Gon, he spotted when he was getting food, had struck up a conversation with a couple of well-dressed, important-looking humans. His body language was relaxed, so Feemor returned to Skywalker and Obi-Wan without any regret about forcing his former master to find an alternate dinner partner for the night.

_'Not that,'_ a mental voice that sounded very much like Kei said, _'you **should** feel any regret. What sort of jedi master repudiates their padawan and then continues to keep tabs on them?'_

Feemor didn't bother attempting to argue that point, just settled back in at the table and let Skywalker's voice—he'd moved on to gushing about how beautiful the city was—wash over him again.

They were eventually interrupted by a crowd of starfighter pilots, who were looking to congratulate Skywalker on his destruction of the control ship, followed by a trickling of officials who wanted to shake hands and 'thank you all _personally_ for your parts in saving Naboo'.

When Skywalker's eyes started drooping, Obi-Wan and Feemor made their excuses to their current crowd of grateful Naboo and ushered the boy back to their suite, where Feemor took over getting Skywalker ready for bed—he had plenty of practise riding herd on exhausted younglings—then joined Obi-Wan out in the common area.

"What did Master do?" the padawan asked in a tired, unsurprised tone.

Feemor shook his head. "Apparently, he's been keeping track of my missions."

Obi-Wan considered that with a frown for a long moment, then said, "Ah. And you had no idea."

"No. Until three days ago, I hadn't even spoken to him since our spar the day he left with Xanatos and Tahl to Telos IV."

Obi-Wan's mouth went tight, and Feemor couldn't tell if it was due to the sheer length of time he and Qui-Gon had spent ignoring the problem, or at the mention of Tahl, given Feemor knew he and Qui-Gon had been there when she died.

Feemor sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Kei was just telling me I forgave him too easily."

"Maybe," Obi-Wan agreed in a hesitant voice.

"But?"

Obi-Wan frowned down at where he was running his fingers along his braid. "I know he...blamed himself. For Xanatos. And he said, for me, he said he didn't even realise what he'd done, right?"

Feemor frowned. "Are you suggesting he didn't realise he'd repudiated me?"

Sadly, he could almost see it; Qui-Gon, unfortunately, had a long habit of doing stupid things without thinking—almost always insisting it was at the urging of the Force—and then being blindsided by the consequences.

"Maybe?" Obi-Wan offered with a shrug. "And then, when you never approached him, he just...assumed you didn't want him near you or your padawan."

Feemor closed his eyes and let out a strained breath. "Why is everything with that man so _complicated_?"

Obi-Wan let out a strained, tired laugh. "Good question."

Feemor sighed and leant forward so he could pat his brother-padawan's knee. "Go get some sleep, little brother. We're expecting guests at some point tomorrow."

" _I'm_ not the one the Council wants to yell at," Obi-Wan returned.

"Yes, but _someone_ has to keep my padawan distracted while I'm getting reprimanded."

Obi-Wan straightened, his eyes brightening. "Your padawan's coming? Wangui?"

Feemor grinned and nodded. "According to Kei, yes."

Obi-Wan grinned back for a moment, before sobering a bit and asking, "Kei is...?"

"Ah. Knight Kei Kimura. He, Master Roimata, and Knight Rún Ursu were my crèchemates, and remain my closest friends."

"Oh." Obi-Wan smiled a bit whimsically. "Bant Eerin, Garen Muln, and Reeft, we're the same. I hope we're still friends when we're older."

Feemor snorted. "We're not _that_ old, young padawan."

Obi-Wan made a face at him.

Feemor chuckled. "For Kei, though, he's a temple guard. And let me apologise now, because he's something of an acquired taste."

Obi-Wan laughed. "So's Garen. And Quin, Quinlan Vos; we met on Troiken, during the Stark Hyperspace War, and he comes to annoy me when we're both in Temple."

"Sounds like the sort of friend you love to plot the murder of," Feemor offered with a knowing smile, and Obi-Wan laughed again, nodding. "I look forward to meeting all of them. And introducing you to Roimata and Rún."

"Not Knight Kei?" Obi-Wan asked with a grin.

"I've already apologised for him."

Obi-Wan snickered and pushed himself up from his seat. "Good night, F–" He hesitated for a beat, then swallowed and looked down at Feemor. "Big brother."

Warmth unfurled in Feemor's chest, and he stood so he could tug his brother-padawan into a hug. Obi-Wan hesitated again, but then his arms came up and he hugged Feemor back hard, face tucked in to press against his collarbone. "Good night, little brother," Feemor replied gently.

Obi-Wan tightened his arms around Feemor, then tugged away and hurried into his room, the door falling closed behind him.

Feemor closed his eyes and smiled, reaching out into the Force to touch the thread of a burgeoning Force bond, sensing a faint echo of embarrassment and pleasure. He sent a swell of affection down the bond—partially so Obi-Wan knew it was there, partially because he _wanted to_ —and felt a faint echo of surprise followed by a very purposeful sense of gratitude. So far as he could tell, Obi-Wan didn't try to block the bond on his end in any way, so Feemor let it settle in his mind, next to his bonds with Ace and Wangui and the one-sided bond with Kei (which they had formed during the war, as a way to keep tabs on each other, so the other half of it simply didn't exist).

(Held apart from those four bonds were the shrivelled remains of his shattered bond with his first master, and the cleanly severed bond with Qui-Gon.)

Warmed by the acceptance of the new bond, and having no particular interest in waiting for Qui-Gon to return to the suite, Feemor retreated to his room to meditate until morning.

.


	4. Looking Through Distorted Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is...not really a nice chapter? I mean, there's lots of hugs, but, well, Feemor's struggling, just a little bit. (Which is a large part of the reason for the hugs.) I mean, the big stressor of saving Qui-Gon is done with, so now his brain can focus on all the other shit he's been through, right?  
> First up, warning for a panic attack/flashback. (If you need to skip it, it's when Feemor starts cursing at Yoda, lasts maybe eight paragraphs; skip down to the line that starts with 'Naboo'.)  
> Second, the dream sequence includes child death, just jump to the next scene break to skip it. (I added a warning in the scene break, so should be easy to avoid.)  
> Last, there's a flashback at the very end of the chapter. You'll probably see that one coming.

The morning of the day the Council and new chancellor were expected to arrive, was spent assisting with clean-up. Feemor somehow ended up on Skywalker watching duty, which meant he joined the droid recycling crew, while Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon left for parts of the city that had seen a firefight during the occupation and, as such, had suffered structural damage. The Force was one of the greatest assistants, when it came to shifting heavy rubble, or holding up unsteady structures while more permanent bracing systems were put into place, and the people of Naboo were extremely grateful to have jedi willing to assist with the clean-up efforts, based on some of the comments they heard at dinner.

Feemor, unfortunately, had never been particularly fond of droids—his strength in the Living Force meant he much preferred working with living things—and the war had completely turned him off battle droids. So dropping the carcases into the recycling unit turned out to be _extremely_ cathartic, even if it was accompanied by Skywalker rattling off random facts and observations he'd made about the droids.

They were eating lunch in a large dining room, with the queen, her entourage, and various ministers, when Feemor sensed a firm nudge in his mind. He traced it back to its source, felt relief and a sense of scolding from his padawan, and said, "They've dropped out of hyperspace," loud enough for the whole table to hear.

"Wangui?" Qui-Gon enquired quietly with a knowing smile.

Feemor nodded. "Wangui."

Obi-Wan hid a subtle cough in his water glass, while Anakin looked between them with a confused frown.

"Captain, please have our guests collected," Amidala said to Panaka, and he gave a quick bow, then left the room with three security officers. "Until we have confirmation of their exact arrival time, we may as well continue the meal," she added to the table at large, and had another delicate bite of the pasta dish.

They ended up having enough time to run back to their suite and change into clean clothing—all far more colourful than any of them were used to, as the Naboo seemed to detest shades of brown; Skywalker seemed delighted, and Feemor had been relieved to find shades of orange in the wardrobe in his room, but the other two jedi looked very much like they would have preferred to wear dusty tunics—before they had to join Amidala on the wide boulevard the senate shuttle had been directed to.

Panaka took the lead towards the shuttle, once the ramp opened, leading Gunray and Haako, while the three jedi took up the rear, Skywalker hop-skipping every few steps in an attempt to stay between Obi-Wan and Feemor.

Chancellor Palpatine led the way down the ramp, his familiar, kindly smile in place. He had just reached the group of jedi and opened his mouth, when a loud, " _Master_!" echoed from inside the ship, and an orange and purple blur dodged around Panaka and the Neimoidians, and crashed into Feemor, who had stepped forward and held open his arms for her.

"My precious girl," Feemor whispered into the mass of her hair as he wrapped his padawan up in a hug.

Wangui clutched tight to the back of his robes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like one of Kei's favourite Umbarese insults.

"Language," Feemor warned, and she huffed, but obediently kept any other insults to herself. (And he didn't, for one moment, doubt there were plenty more; knowing Kei, he'd taught her a few in hopes that she'd use them at an improper moment.)

When he unwrapped his arms, she let go and stepped back, flicking her braid over her shoulder with one hand and scowling up at him. "You better not have run out of hospital against the medics' orders again, Master."

Feemor shook his head, far too happy to see her again, _alive_ , to be bothered by her mothering. "I promise I was released properly."

She looked _extremely_ sceptical.

"He really was," Obi-Wan offered in a careful tone. "Master checked with the medics."

Feemor sighed and shook his head. "Of _course_ he did," he muttered.

"Who are you?" Wangui asked, clearly trying for diplomatic, but the words came out sounding a little too suspicious.

Feemor caught his padawan around the shoulders and turned them both to where Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Skywalker had turned their attention to them, Palpatine having moved on to talk to Amidala. "This is Wangui, my padawan. Wangui, this is your grandmaster, Qui-Gon Jinn, his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker."

Wangui turned a wide-eyed stare on him. "But, I thought Master Je'dyannder was your master!"

"She was," Qui-Gon offered mildly. "I took Feemor as my padawan after her death."

"Why haven't you ever _mentioned_ him before?" she demanded, looking between him and Qui-Gon. "Master Jinn's a _legend_!"

"Am I, now?" Qui-Gon asked, still in that mild tone that Feemor _knew_ was masking laughter.

Wangui's cheeks flushed a dark plum and she ducked behind Feemor.

Feemor chuckled and shook his head, probably a little too amused by his padawan's embarrassment.

The clicking of Yoda's gimer stick on the stone walkway had all of them turning to bow to the six Council members: Yoda, Mace Windu, Plo Koon, Saesee Tiin, Even Piell, and Ki-Adi-Mundi.

"On the ship, you were meant to remain, Padawan Wangui," Yoda said.

"Sorry, Master," Wangui said to her feet.

Feemor gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure none of you expected me to be on my feet, Master."

"I believe you're already in enough trouble, Master Feemor," Mundi told him in an unimpressed voice.

Feemor met the Cerean master's eyes and said, in a perfect imitation of his former master, "I was only following the will of the Force."

Obi-Wan made a choked noise.

"As must we all," Qui-Gon agreed serenely.

Yoda's ears went flat, while other members of the Council developed twitches or, in the case of Koon, made a noise that could have been construed as a chuckle. 

For his part, Windu reached up and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "This should be an interesting debrief," he said, sounding strained, "given I can't even look at you properly right now."

Feemor couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising at that. But then he realised that Windu probably meant there were tens of shatterpoints converging on him, which made sense, him having memories of a possible future.

"Interesting, yes," the troll agreed, then lifted his gimer stick and waved it between Feemor and Qui-Gon—Feemor was a little ashamed to admit he flinched, but felt a little better that he hadn't been the only one—and asked, "Speaking again, are you?"

"We are," Qui-Gon agreed. And then, with just a _hint_ of uncertainty, he added, "I have some...things to take back, records to set to rights."

Windu muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Who packed the holorecorder?"

"Time, long past it has been," Yoda announced, and his gimer stick returned to the stone walkway with a click. "Your reports we will hear, then his words Qui-Gon will eat, hm?"

Qui-Gon gave a short bow. "Her Majesty has lent us the use of one of the smaller meeting rooms for the rest of the day, if you'll follow me?"

As Qui-Gon turned to lead the way, Obi-Wan falling in at his shoulder, Feemor caught Skywalker's shoulder to stop him from following as well. "Anakin, could you show Wangui to our suite?" he requested. "She can put her things in my room, for now, and we'll sort sleeping arrangements after dinner."

"Yeah, okay," Skywalker muttered, kicking at the ground a bit.

"You're welcome to show her around the palace, after," Feemor offered. "She'd probably love to meet R2." Because Wangui was hardly as much of a droid maniac as the boy, but she had struck up a quick friendship with Ace's astromech the first time they'd met, and he didn't doubt the same would happen with R2-D2.

Skywalker perked up. "R2's the best! Wait 'til you meet him!"

Wangui cast a questioning glance at Feemor, and he smiled and made a shooing motion with his hands. Sighing a bit, she nodded and turned her attention to Skywalker, leaving Feemor to hurry after the Council, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan, without worrying about the youngest two.

The room Amidala had leant them had more than enough chairs for all of them to sit, but sitting during a Council debrief was a foreign and slightly uncomfortable prospect, so Qui-Gon, Feemor, and Obi-Wan all stood in front of the half-circle of Council members as they explained all that had transpired on Naboo.

"There's a distinct lack of explanation for your part in this, Master Feemor," Piell said, once they'd got through the death of Maul and the drafting and signing of the treaty.

"Master Che reported that you believed yourself to have had a vision of Master Jinn's death," Koon said. "By all accounts, the first one you've ever had."

Feemor twisted his fingers together hard enough to ache under the cover of his sleeves, and glanced over at Qui-Gon, debating. He could continue telling everyone it had been a vision, with only his former master aware of the truth, or he could tell the Council—and Obi-Wan, because he was hardly going to kick his brother-padawan out, that would be cruel—that he'd seen one possible future, the whole of it for the next thirteen years.

"It's your story to share, Padawan," Qui-Gon offered quietly.

Feemor closed his eyes, drew in a slow, deep breath, and then opened his eyes and looked at Koon, since he'd been the one to broach the question. "So far as my memories are concerned, I died five days ago. Thirteen years in the future."

The Council members traded looks, some disbelieving, some thoughtful.

Windu, for his part, closed his eyes and started massaging his forehead. "Time travel," he said flatly.

Feemor inclined his head. And then, in deference to Windu's shatterpoint-born headache, said, "Yes. A future where Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan returned with Queen Amidala to Naboo alone, faced the sith apprentice, Darth Maul, and Qui-Gon was slain. Obi-Wan bisected Maul, who was assumed dead until he reappeared ten years later, murdering innocents to draw him into a fight with the intention of getting revenge for his defeat."

Obi-Wan shifted closer to Feemor, his shoulder brushing Feemor's bicep, and he felt a brief sense of understanding across their fledgling bond, followed by a flash of a memory: Maul's head cleanly removed from his body.

Feemor had heard more than enough stories about Maul's attempts to get revenge on his brother-padawan; he had no more interest in watching that misery play out again, than he had in losing Qui-Gon to a sith a second time.

Feemor swallowed and lifted his chin, staring at the detailed rendering of one of Naboo's myths, painted onto the wall between Yoda and Windu's chairs. "There is war, and the sith, and so much _darkness_ in that future, Masters. I do not know as much as I wish, but what I do, if the Council deems it wise, I will share. In hopes that it might ease our way forward, and save more lives."

The room was silent for a beat, two.

"This darkness you have seen, sensed it we have," Yoda said grimly. "Ever changing, the future is, hard to predict. Already, different it is. With great care, such knowledge must be shared. A decision for today, this is not."

Feemor bowed his understanding, torn between relief that he wouldn't have to re-live the wars and his personal losses right that moment, and disappointment that they wouldn't get it all out of the way right then.

"Is there anything currently or soon-to-be relevant that you wish to share now?" Koon asked.

"Anakin Skywalker," Feemor said immediately, and Windu grimaced, rubbing harder at his forehead. "He became a truly excellent knight, and it was a common belief that we would have lost far more than we did during the war without him."

"And who, then, was his master?” Piell asked, staring at Qui-Gon.

"Obi-Wan," Feemor admitted, and the padawan twitched behind him. "The Council declared his battle against Maul to have been his Trials."

The Council members traded speaking looks, and Feemor glanced over at Qui-Gon, whose mouth quirked up ever so slightly; they had both read that exchange as the Council having intended to claim that battle his Trials again.

"I don't understand why I would take on Ani immediately after being knighted," Obi-Wan said, as bewildered now as he'd been the first time Feemor had mentioned this future to him. "He's a sweet boy, but, Feemor, you said he should spend some time in the initiate dorms before being picked as a padawan."

"Too _old_ he is," Yoda muttered stubbornly.

"And if he's not trained?" Feemor demanded. "There's a sith master out there, somewhere, and they're down one apprentice. Do you really want to _hand them_ a boy that's as powerful as Anakin is? Gift wrap him with a rejection from the Order because he 'too old'?"

Yoda's ears went up in surprise. "Betray you, your emotions do," he said in a warning tone.

Something inside Feemor _snapped_. " _Kriff_ my emotions! I lost nearly my entire lineage because this _karking Council_ let the Senate lead them about by the choobies, sending us to lead a war we had _no business being a part of_! I am not going to just, just _stand back_ and let you make the same _kriffing mistakes_ all over again! I can't–!"

Hands gripped his shoulders tight enough to ache as something—some _one_ —blocked his view of his great-grandmaster. " _Breathe_ , Feemor," Qui-Gon directed from a distance.

Feemor tried to draw in a breath, choked on nothing because there was nothing there, because he was trapped, trapped under the rubble of a building that had been declared structurally sound, and he couldn't–

A forehead knocked gently against his, and a hand cupped the back of his neck, the same way the Vode always did to each other. "Padawan," Qui-Gon said, voice quiet, but firm, "listen to the sound of my voice. You're on Naboo, in the palace. You're _safe_. And so am I, and so is Obi-Wan. And so are Wangui and Anakin. Everyone is _safe_."

Feemor gasped in air, choked on it as it rushed in too fast.

"Slowly, with me," Qui-Gon directed, and took a slow, steady breath.

Feemor tried to match him, a little too fast in, but he let it out slower, in time with his master, and the next breath in came easier, didn't hitch in his throat or stumble to his lungs, out again, like a sigh, pushing away the billowing of duracrete dust that had never been there to begin with.

In, the familiar scent of safety and _home_ that decades couldn't remove from his sense-memory; out, the two points of concern shining like beacons in his mind, one more distant than the other, padawans who had always done their best to shove a shoulder under his when everything started to drag; in, the warm-worry-affection reaching out a little uncertainly through the new bond with his brother-padawan, like he wasn't certain it would be welcome; out.

Naboo. Safe. He'd been yelling at the Council.

"Feemor?" Qui-Gon asked quietly, their foreheads pressed tight together, his hands warm and familiar on Feemor's nape, on his shoulder.

"Sorry," Feemor rasped.

Qui-Gon squeezed the back of his neck, then pulled back and said, "Obi-Wan, take him back to the suite."

"Of course, Master," Obi-Wan agreed, and when Qui-Gon let him go, Obi-Wan's arm slid around his shoulders, just the slightest bit hesitant, like he wasn't certain if it would be allowed, or like he didn't really know _how_.

Feemor let himself be directed out of the room, feeling drained and sluggish, but he still found the energy to lift his arm and slide it back around Obi-Wan's shoulder, tugging his brother-padawan in a little closer, more comfortable. Obi-Wan huffed, but didn't fight him, settled into the new position and kept walking.

"What _happened_?!" Wangui shouted as they approached the suite, hurrying down the hall from the other direction, Skywalker on her heels.

"His, his vision," Obi-Wan replied, a little hesitant, and then he shook his head. "Something he saw in it, it was...disturbing. Visions are, they're hard. Harder when you're not used to them, probably. He just needs to lie down, sleep it off."

"If he _can_ ," Wangui replied with all the certainty of a padawan who had woken to find her master sitting up and working on something at the oddest hours, insisting he wasn't tired for _days_ on end, because a couple of hours of meditation was enough to keep him going until his current insomnia cycle let off.

They helped him to the bed, Wangui holding the doors open and Skywalker pulling down the bedsheets and Obi-Wan helping him out of his robes and pulling off his boots once he was sitting down.

Wangui was the one to tuck him in, warm concern weaving around him through their bond. "Get some sleep, Master. You _probably_ need it."

"One of us will be in the common room," Obi-Wan added.

And that, that was a _relief_. So Feemor closed his eyes and let himself fall back into the darkness of unconsciousness.

BREAK  
**Child death warning**  
BREAK

_"General!"_

_He looks up, catches sight of the wildly waving arms—Rube, it looks like, and almost certainly Snipe; those two are practically attached at the hip, will end up dying together—and makes his way over to the blown-in front of the building they're in front of. When he recognises the local symbol for a learning centre, shattered at the very edge of the spidering cracks in the building, his stomach drops._

_"We weren't sure what to do," Snipe says, hands clenched tight around his DC-15A. "What if there's survivors?"_

_"There aren't," he says, wishes so very desperately for it to be a lie, but there are no signs of life in the Force, only the echoes of terror and agony, of lives ended before their time._

_Rube's shoulders slump, and Snipe clutches his rifle a little harder, a unhappy creaking sound coming from either his gauntlets or the weapon._

_"I'll help," he promises, patting Rube's shoulder, since he's closest, and then turns his attention to the ruined building, asking the Force to help him move the duracrete so they can get in to safely collect the dead._

_The first body they find makes his insides clench, the brilliant purple of Wangui's skin gone a dull lilac, her padawan braid paled with building dust. The second is almost worse, Ace's bright green eyes gone dim and lifeless, the long curl of their padawan braid thrown across their neck like the parody of a noose. The third, green blood pooling out from where something has smashed in the side of Vega's head, staining the auburn of her padawan braid an ugly brown. The fourth, Skywalker's expression twisted with an agony he's never seen, a cut just above his right eye a nod to the famous scar he'll now never have._

_He knows who the teacher is before he reaches him, lifts the plank of broken desk off with his own two hands and stares down into the face of his brother-padawan, his blue-green eyes gone grey and empty, yet still somehow staring at him, deep into his soul. An accusation._

_'Why didn't you save us?'_

BREAK  
**End child death warning**  
BREAK

It wasn't the first time he woke himself sobbing, but it _was_ the first time in a very long time that there was someone there, their hand warm and grounding on his back, while whispered assurances—"It's okay, no one's dead, everyone's okay."—gave him something to focus on, a truth that pushed back the nightmare images.

"Sorry," he whispered once he'd managed to settle himself enough that the tears had mostly stopped.

"I think," Obi-Wan replied, "that you, of any of us, are allowed to have nightmares."

Feemor snorted, but didn't disagree. Instead, he said, "I'm giving up sleep."

Obi-Wan let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh. "That never actually works out as well as you want it to," he said with the voice of experience.

Feemor squinted in his direction, though the room was too dark to actually make out more than the shadow of him. "If I didn't know Xanatos was an absolute terror if he didn't get eight hours every night, I would think Qui-Gon made a habit of picking chronic insomniacs."

"I'm not...chronic. Or, well," he corrected, sounding a little uncertain, "I...wasn't?"

Feemor closed his eyes. "Please, lie to me if you have to, and tell me our master didn't somehow manage to train you out of sleeping."

"He didn't! I just, well, there have been a...few missions where going to sleep was dangerous."

Feemor had been on missions like that, certainly, and they were the sort that the Council actively tried to _not_ give to partnerships involving a padawan. Of course, from the publicly available reports of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's missions—and, later, Obi-Wan and Skywalker's—they tended to have a lot of bad luck with missions that _should_ have been simple, taking a hard left into a Hutt's backside.

"It's probably for the best," Feemor said, rather than commenting on Obi-Wan's mission luck, or what he thought about Qui-Gon not doing more to keep his current padawan from developing poor self-care habits (not that he should be throwing those stones, though he didn't think Ace or Wangui had ever been in danger of neglecting their own health quite the way he did). "Sleep is overrated."

"It really is."

Feemor snorted and pushed himself up to a sitting position in the big bed. He checked on his bond with Wangui and, upon finding her asleep, asked, "What time is it?"

"Uh, two-ish, I think? There's some food left for you, from dinner, if you're hungry?"

Feemor considered that for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "I should. Wangui will sit on me and start shoving things in my mouth if she finds out I woke up and didn't eat."

Obi-Wan snickered as he got up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed. "As entertaining as that might be to watch, let's avoid it."

"Let's," Feemor agreed drily. "Is Anakin still next door to me?"

"Oh, no. Wangui's in there, and Ani's in my room. I'm technically sharing with Qui-Gon, but I wasn't tired."

"Not going to complain about the company," Feemor offered, and felt a burst of warmth through his bond with Obi-Wan. "I am going to visit the 'fresher first, though."

"I'll check on the food," Obi-Wan promised, amusement in his voice, and quit the room.

He relieved himself, grimaced at the exhaustion still lining his face and the ten-day-old stubble he should probably do something about—he'd never had his former master or brother-padawan's luck with growing a beard—then returned to his room to find something to wear that he hadn't slept in.

Feeling a little more like a living person, he joined Obi-Wan out in the common area, where the lights were on low enough to not blind anyone, but high enough that they could easily see each other. He sat across from his brother-padawan, where a tray of fruit, bread, and vegetables had been left for him. "Thank you," he offered, picking up one of the rolls.

And then he stopped, and looked up again at Obi-Wan, who was rather obviously pretending _not_ to be expecting a reaction to the empty space behind his right ear. "Congratulations, Knight Kenobi," he offered, pushing a sense of pride down their bond.

Obi-Wan flushed and grinned, reaching up to tug on the braid that wasn't there, and tugging on the lobe of his ear instead. "Thanks. The Council, they decided that, between Maul and, and what happened with Qui-Gon, with him repudiating me, even if he hadn't _meant_ it that way, that I'd passed my Trials."

"Good. And you are going to be one _hell_ of a knight," Feemor returned.

Obi-Wan ducked his head towards his chest. "I'm going to have to take your word for it," he mumbled. "I don't _feel_ very knightly."

"You never do," Feemor admitted a bit helplessly. "And the same goes for being a master. Especially, it turns out, when your old master is around. Or Yoda."

Obi-Wan choked out a laugh, at that. "I suppose Master Yoda makes _everyone_ feel like a crècheling."

"It's the gimer stick."

"And the way his ears droop in disappointment."

Feemor chuckled and ducked forward to focus on eating, warmed by the banter.

There was a datapad on the table on Obi-Wan's side, and he picked it up, fingers pressing along the edges. "Ani, the Council accepted him."

"That's good."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Master told them, though, that you think he needs to spend time with other initiates, in the dorms. So no one's allowed to take him as a padawan until he's twelve. He keeps vacillating between being excited about sleeping with other initiates in the dorms, and being upset about having to wait a little over two years to be picked."

Feemor snorted. "So, he's exactly like every other initiate his age."

Obi-Wan coughed and nodded, amusement flickering at the edge of the bond. "He did, though, get promises out of Master and me, that we'd visit him when we're in Temple." Feemor snorted; that didn't really surprise him. "And Wangui, she told him that you like spending time in the crèche, sometimes, so you'd probably be willing to visit him."

Feemor sat back, picking at the stem of the pear he was holding. "Younglings are easy, tend to actually say what they mean; they're a refreshing change from dealing with the Senate and diplomatic envoys."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Okay, yeah, that's true enough. And they're _always_ happy to see you."

"Also a point in their favour."

Obi-Wan grinned and shook his head. "The initiates would probably be equally excited to see us."

"Less so me, since I already have a padawan," Feemor had to point out, and Obi-Wan shrugged. "You don't have to sell me on visiting Anakin, Obi-Wan; I _like_ spending time with the younglings."

"I– Oh. Right." Obi-Wan stared down at the datapad, the screen flickering as he fingered the power button.

Feemor sighed and set the pear back on the tray. "What is it?"

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted into an unhappy frown. "Something Master said. About, about your, ah, your memories?"

Feemor frowned and settled back in his chair, frowning himself. "Which part?"

"He...implied, sort of, that we didn't...talk? At all?"

"Ah." Feemor sighed and made himself meet his brother-padawan's uncertain gaze. "I...never made up with Qui-Gon. Obviously. So he never introduced us. And I...didn't really know how to approach you? I mean, you had a new padawan, and I know how...exhausting that can be, getting used to having a youngling around. And then Wangui became a senior padawan, took her Trials, and died on her first mission."

Obi-Wan's eyes went wide and he whispered, "Feemor," in a voice that _ached_.

Feemor flashed him a sharp smile. "Not happening, not this time," he said, and Obi-Wan nodded, still looking a little like his heart had broken.

Feemor sighed, had to look away as he said, "Obi-Wan, I didn't...know. If you knew about me or not. And, well, Xanatos leaves an...impression."

Obi-Wan let out a disgusted, if slightly strained, snort.

Feemor shrugged. "I didn't know if you'd even want anything to do with our master's repudiated padawan. Especially since you always looked so put together."

Obi-Wan choked. " _Me_?"

Feemor offered him a helpless smile. "It may have just been a very good act, but it...well. I thought I would just end up being in the way, so I left it. Yoda bruised my ankles for it when I finally admitted that to him."

Obi-Wan huffed and shook his head, his expression held blank in that same careful way Feemor recognised from his memories. Except, now, he could also feel the swirl of confused emotions tickling the edge of their bond.

After a moment of silence, Obi-Wan cautiously said, "I...can't speak for that, that _version_ of me, because I don't, I'm not...him."

"No," Feemor agreed quietly. That Obi-Wan had probably never got an apology from Qui-Gon for his words to the Council, had had no idea he had another brother-padawan who had a pretty good idea what he was going through, and he'd lost his master and been left with a new padawan. No master, no grandmaster, no one left in their lineage to turn to when he needed someone to lean on.

_Force_ , Feemor had been an _idiot_.

"But, I think I, he, would have wanted to know you."

"Yeah," Feemor whispered. "I'm getting that." He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them, smearing drops of unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I should have– I _knew_ how Qui-Gon could be, I should have guessed that you wouldn't have got through your apprenticeship entirely unscathed. And Master Yan–" He choked, laughed a little at the very _thought_ of Obi-Wan trying to go to Yan if he'd needed help.

"I didn't even know he was around," Obi-Wan muttered, sounding just the slightest bit petulant.

Feemor snorted, the sound coming out harsh and angry. "He wasn't," he said, bitter. "He left the Order after Qui-Gon's death, went back to Serenno and accepted his noble heritage."

"You...sound like you really hate him," Obi-Wan said, cautious. "Why pressure Qui-Gon into inviting him to dinner?"

Feemor sighed and picked up the pear again, pressing a crescent into the skin with a nail. "I don't, actually, know how much of his leaving was to do with Qui-Gon's death, and how much was him just being _that fed up_ with how attached to the Senate the Order was. But, after he left, he..." Became a sith, led half the galaxy in a war against the Republic, _cut off your padawan's arm_. "He made a lot of bad choices. I...don't really want to have to listen to Yoda tell me he'd been killed again. That was...rough." It had been a victory, yes, but Yan had been Yoda's _padawan_ , had been Feemor's grandmaster, and Obi-Wan's, too. Fighting against him for three years had been hard enough, but then for Anakin to have been the one to kill him?

_Force_ , their lineage was such a speeder wreck.

"Poor Master Yoda," Obi-Wan whispered, shaking his head. "So you want, you're hoping that, with Master still alive, maybe he won't leave?"

"Maybe," Feemor agreed. "And, maybe, too, if he realises he still has a, a family in Temple, that he's got a grandpadawan he might actually _like_ –"

"How promising," Obi-Wan muttered.

"–that he might be willing to stick around. If only to yell at me for letting Wangui do _that_ with her hair."

Obi-Wan choked out a laugh. "I don't know, it sort of suits her? Makes her look bigger than she is. Fits her personality."

"You can say that again," Feemor muttered, rolling his eyes, and Obi-Wan coughed into his fist, mouth pulled wide in a grin. "It takes a fair bit of upkeep, honestly. I told her she could wear it however she wanted, but taking care of it is her job. She'll get sick of it in a year or so, beg me to take her down to the lower town so a salon can do tiny braids; they apparently require a minimum of maintenance, if done right."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Is it...weird? Knowing what's going to happen like that?"

Feemor considered that for a moment. Was it weird knowing how and when Wangui was going to want to change her hair? Maybe a little. But it was comfortable, too, in a way. "A little. But it's also a bit nice? Because I know things like Qui-Gon's death, things I can change. And, well, I can only assume that, eventually, I'll have changed too much? Even now, maybe she'll decide to change her hair earlier because something about Qui-Gon being alive and a part of her life makes her decide it's too much effort, or that she likes a different style far more. Or maybe Master Yan will talk her into a more conservative style."

Obi-Wan snorted. "I haven't known her long, but I'm pretty sure 'conservative' is not something she'd be interested in."

"Ah, but you haven't met Master Yan, yet. He can be _very_ convincing. Though rarely in a good way."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Maybe I _don't_ want to meet him."

Feemor snickered and finally took a bite of the pear he'd been abusing.

Obi-Wan fidgeted with the power button of the datapad a few more times, then started tapping on and scrolling the screen.

Feemor honestly couldn't tell if Obi-Wan was just one of those people who fiddled with things if they had it in their hands—Feemor certainly was, despite all of Qui-Gon's attempts to get him to stop, though he'd learnt that he could fold his hands together and keep them under the sleeves of his robes to keep them occupied without anyone noticing—or if he had something else he wanted to ask and the fidgeting was a sign of nerves. Rather than push and chance a misstep—he doubted Qui-Gon had taken to Obi-Wan's fidgeting any better than he had to Feemor's, and he didn't want his brother-padawan to feel like he had to be perfectly behaved around him—he focussed on the pear, then got up to drop the pit into the recycler.

And then, since he didn't have a datapad to keep himself distracted with, he decided, "I'm going to meditate."

Obi-Wan glanced up, a whisper of hope skittering at the edge of the bond.

Feemor offered him a smile. "Did you want to join me?"

Obi-Wan nodded and pushed himself out of his chair, dropping the datapad back onto the table. "Yes. If it's not an imposition."

Feemor shook his head. "Not in the least. I enjoy meditating with other people, though it has been a while, for me."

"But– Oh, right." Obi-Wan nodded in understanding, relaxing a bit.

"Also," Feemor added as he knelt in front of the large windows that overlooked a garden; he was fairly certain it faced the direction the sun rose in, so he could use the dawn to bring himself out of the meditation, if something else didn't do it before then, "I tend to use meditation in place of sleep, when my insomnia is particularly bad."

Obi-Wan offered him a slightly wry smile as he knelt next to him. "I do the same thing."

"Hm. Well, at least I'm not the only one with that bad habit in this lineage, any more."

Obi-Wan snorted, and then they both closed their eyes and opened themselves to the Force.

In the Force's embrace, Obi-Wan shared the thought he'd been worrying at earlier: Whether or not he should take Skywalker as his padawan.

_You have time,_ Feemor thought at him, sending a soothing wave to blanket the concern. _Learn yourself, get to know him as he learns the Temple and our ways, and then decide. No one will shame you if the answer ends up being no._

Obi-Wan relaxed a little further into the Force, letting the thought and the fears attached to it float away on the eddies around them.

Meditating with Obi-Wan, it turned out, was easy in a comfortable way. He had a steadiness to him that reminded Feemor of Qui-Gon, something that neither Ace nor Wangui—both far too active, too get-up-and-go—had ever had, and it soothed away the wary antsiness the war had left him with almost without Feemor noticing. The brilliant light Feemor had seen at his core helped in its own way, too, pushing away the edges of darkness both in the Force and in Feemor's own memories, easing the way for a far more relaxing meditation than he'd had in a...very long time.

Feemor eventually became aware of someone moving around nearby, but there was no danger in the Force, and Obi-Wan thought a quiet, _Master,_ which was when Feemor recognised his former master's signature, just a hint darker and more worn around the edges than the last time he'd seen it from so deeply in the Force.

Qui-Gon settled near them, sending a silent request to join them through the Force, and when neither of them refused, settled into meditation with them. Without really thinking about it, Feemor drifted closer to Qui-Gon's familiar, steady presence, Obi-Wan doing the same, and their master wrapped them both up in a sense of comfort and pride.

It was _so easy_ to let go of the lingering irritation at Qui-Gon, like that, and he let it drift off into the Force.

What seemed like no time at all after Qui-Gon joined them, Skywalker's blinding presence came into the common room, and his confusion swept over them.

Amusement and resignation shared between all three of them, and they withdrew from the Force.

Feemor opened his eyes and smiled a bit at the pink staining the horizon, while Obi-Wan got up to check in with Skywalker.

Next to him, Qui-Gon shifted out of his meditation pose with a quiet groan. "That used to be easier on my body," he murmured.

"Maybe if you didn't annoy so many people into shooting at you, your joints would be more appreciative," Feemor returned drily.

Qui-Gon huffed. "Thank you for not telling me to go see the healers."

Feemor snickered and glanced over at his former master. "And let you call me a hypocrite?"

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, then glanced over as the last room door opened and Wangui peeked out.

"Yes, Padawan, it's safe to come out here now," Feemor promised drily. "No one is going to make you meditate."

Wangui straightened and stepped out of her room. "I just didn't want to disturb you, Master. You looked so peaceful."

Feemor raised an eyebrow at her, far too familiar with her studied avoidance of meditation whenever she could manage it to buy that particular story.

"Sitting in one place looks _boring_ ," Skywalker announced, and Wangui's face lit up at the entrance of an ally.

"You'll understand the draw when you're older," Qui-Gon announced as he got up, then held a hand down to Feemor, who accepted the help more as a way to show there was peace between them, than because he needed it.

"Ace still hates meditation and they're lots older," Wangui informed her grandmaster.

When Qui-Gon turned a questioning look on Feemor, he huffed out a laugh. "Ace prefers _moving_ meditation, Wangui, which is not the same as hating meditation."

"Okay, fine, Ace hates _boring_ meditation."

Feemor resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Hm. She is definitely _your_ padawan," Qui-Gon decided, and Obi-Wan let out one of his unconvincing coughs while Wangui beamed.

Feemor turned an unimpressed stare on the elder jedi. "Master, quibbling over the minor details is something I got from _you_."

Qui-Gon folded his arms together inside his sleeves. "I'm certain I have no idea what you're talking about," he said in that hoity tone he'd got from Master Yan, which Feemor had spent most of his apprenticeship wanting to punch one or both of them for. (Watching Qui-Gon use it on Xanatos, and the little bastard's annoyed flailing over how to respond to it, had won the tone a lot of fondness.)

"Only because you quibble over _all_ of the details, simultaneously," Obi-Wan offered.

Qui-Gon let out the longest, most suffering sigh Feemor had ever heard from him. "I think," he announced, while Feemor bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, "it's time for us to find breakfast."

Skywalker and Obi-Wan both needed to change before they could head out, while the rest of them needed to collect their boots and robes, so they all retreated to their rooms.

When Feemor returned to the common room, he found Qui-Gon waiting by the door, and walked over to join him.

"Feemor," Qui-Gon said in a quiet, serious voice as Wangui quit her room. "I've rescinded my repudiation of Obi-Wan to the Council, and I want to do the same for you, but I wanted you to be there for it. If you're willing?"

Feemor raised an eyebrow at his former master. "If I wasn't willing, you'd be dead," he returned flatly.

Qui-Gon winced. "I didn't particularly want to spring the Council on you without warning."

Feemor sighed and stepped closer so he could knock his shoulder against Qui-Gon's arm, like he had often done as a padawan, when more overt shows of affection weren't possible or welcome. "I appreciate that."

"Can I ask," Wangui cut in, frowning up at Qui-Gon even as she slid in close to Feemor, and he wrapped an arm around her automatically, " _why_ you repudiated my master? He's a _good_ master."

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "He is, and I'm extremely proud of him."

Feemor ducked his head, not sure if he felt more embarrassed or pleased.

Qui-Gon shifted, folding his arms together inside his robes. "I...had not intended to repudiate Feemor, but I chose my words poorly when I repudiated my second padawan, and no one thought to question me or take me to task over the matter."

"You made that rather difficult when you vanished down a black hole for four years," Feemor returned, refusing to be bothered by how bitter he sounded.

Notably, Qui-Gon didn't dispute that.

"Breakfast?" Obi-Wan suggested into the silence, his voice only a little awkward.

Breakfast mostly involved going by the kitchens and collecting some things they could take with them, though one of the serving folk did say, "There's a bit of a proper breakfast setting up in the main dining room, for Her Majesty and your Council and the sena– Sorry, chancellor."

"I don't believe any of us are prepared for that level of formality this morning," Feemor demurred.

They took their food out to one of the gardens, spread their robes out in the grass, and settled in for a bit of a picnic.

"Other than talking to the Council, is there anything we need to do today?" Obi-Wan asked once most of the food was gone.

"I don't believe so. Why?"

"Well, the parade is tomorrow, and most of the damage along the route has been seen to, but there was a large section by the gates that still looked a bit of a mess, last I heard." Obi-Wan shrugged. "The Council hasn't told us to stop helping, and there's only so much meditating I can do in a day."

"Ha! That's another one!" Wangui crowed.

"I suspect 'only so much' means very different things to you and Knight Kenobi," Feemor pointed out drily.

Obi-Wan reached up, like he was grabbing for his braid, and then side-tracked to rub his chin when he encountered only air. "Yes," he said musingly. "Twelve hours sounds about right for a single day, wouldn't you agree, Master Feemor?"

Wangui and Skywalker let out very similar horrified noises.

Feemor pretended to consider that for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Yes, yes, I believe twelve hours is optimal."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I don't see why we can't continue offering our assistance in the clean-up, and I suspect some Councillors will be interested in joining us, if only to get away from whatever politics they would otherwise be dragged into, given our new chancellor is in residence."

"Assuming they didn't get it all out of the way on the way here," Obi-Wan muttered.

"Without a comm connection?"

"Ah." Obi-Wan inclined his head, then cast Qui-Gon a considering look. "You know, Master, it occurs to me," he started, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes, looking pained, "that you haven't had your turn assisting with the droid recycling project, yet."

"Hey, that's true!" Skywalker piped up. "Obi-Wan and I went the first day, and Mr Feemor went with me yesterday."

"I'm surprised he hasn't tagged along sooner, given how much he _loves_ droids," Feemor couldn't resist saying.

Qui-Gon's betrayed look was there-and-gone fast enough that the youngest two likely hadn't spotted it, but by the way Obi-Wan ducked to hide a grin, he hadn't been fast enough to hide it from either of the men he'd trained to knighthood. "I'm not even certain the droid recycling is still necessary," he said.

"We can find out!" Skywalker chirped, _clearly_ delighted at the chance to spend the day with Qui-Gon. "And, if not, we can always help with the maintenance for the droids helping with the clean-up and the reconstruction. R2 was telling us yesterday that their exhaust ports keep getting clogged, because of all the dust in the worst-hit areas of the city, so they need to be checked on regularly."

"Sounds...exciting," Qui-Gon said, _almost_ sounding convincing.

"And I'm sure Wangui would have far more fun with you and Anakin, than tagging along with Obi-Wan and I to shift rubble," Feemor added, mostly because it was true, but also because he was sort of enjoying tormenting his former master. Just a little bit.

"Oh, uhm, yes, probably? I'm...not very good. At fine Force manipulation," Wangui admitted, ducking her head.

Feemor reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "It's a skill, like any other, that requires practise and patience to master. I have every faith that you'll get it sooner, rather than later."

Wangui peeked out at him, her smile shy and hopeful. "Really?"

"Absolutely," Feemor promised with all the certainty his future memories granted him.

She beamed at him and ducked past his hand on her shoulder to give him a hug, which he didn't hesitate to return, pushing pride and affection down her bond with him. She sent him a warm rush of adoration and gratitude in return.

He loved his padawan. So much.

(She was _not_ dying again because of bad intel on a mission.)

"I suppose I can share myself with Ani and my grandpadawan for the day," Qui-Gon said musingly.

Skywalker let out a little cheer, but Wangui pulled back from Feemor and pointed a stern finger at her grandmaster. " _After_ you talk to the Council."

"Speaking of, shall we go see if they've finished breakfast yet?" Qui-Gon replied, raising his eyebrows.

They all stood and collected their robes, then headed back into the palace. Qui-Gon went to check in with the Council, while Feemor and Obi-Wan babysat Skywalker and Wangui, who had wanted to check in with one of the workers the boy recognised about the state of the droid recycling.

"We actually just got a large shipment in from the Gungans overnight, so there's _plenty_ for you to help with," she told them with a grin. While Skywalker cheered, she flicked a finger between Obi-Wan and Feemor. "Do we get both of you gorgeous men today?"

Obi-Wan shot Feemor a slightly wide-eyed look, apparently uncertain how to react to so blatant a come-on—Feemor wondered whether or not he should warn his brother-padawan that Kei thought he was pretty and had a _very_ active sex drive—and Feemor offered her an easy smile and said, "I'm afraid not. Master Jinn has agreed to assist Anakin today."

The woman let out a considering hum, then turned to Skywalker and said, "I'll see you soon, then, young one."

"Yup!"

Wangui politely waited until the woman was out of range, then informed him, "No offense, Master, but, _ew_. You're, like, fifty."

Feemor snorted. "No offence taken," he promised.

"And you're not that good looking," she added.

"Now _that_ I will take offence to."

She flashed him a wide grin while Obi-Wan choked on a laugh and Skywalker made a bit of a production of rolling his eyes at all of them.

They made their way back to the dining room, reaching it just as Qui-Gon and the six Council members ducked out.

Windu caught sight of Feemor and winced, reaching up to rub at the point between his eyebrows, and Feemor grimaced in sympathy; he had a feeling Windu was going to be missing most, if not all, of his Council debriefs for a while.

Revoking Qui-Gon's repudiation of Feemor was actually rather quick and far too painless, when weighed against the twenty years that had preceded it. (Which wasn't to say that was _it_ , because there were records to change back at the Temple, and a public announcement would be made on the jedi's internal HoloNet, and he and Qui-Gon would probably face their share of questions from friends and acquaintances, but that would all have to wait until they returned to Coruscant.)

They split ways there; Obi-Wan and Feemor heading for the main entrance of the palace; Qui-Gon, Wangui, and Skywalker heading for the hanger entrance, which was the closest to the droid recycling; and the Council back to the meeting room they'd been leant the day before, apparently needing to see to some Council business by holocall.

They had almost reached the front entrance, when a voice called from behind them, "Master Feemor!"

Feemor and Obi-Wan both turned, then bowed upon spotting the chancellor, who was striding up to them with a pleasant smile. "Chancellor Palpatine, to what do we owe the honour?" Feemor enquired.

"Oh, I just wanted to personally thank you–" Palpatine started saying.

A rushing sound filled Feemor's ears, and he heard—repeating over and over, like a bad matrix on a holorecord— "Commander, execute Order Sixty-Six," said by the _chancellor_ , and the whine of a blaster firing from close range, too close to dodge, to see anything but the blankness in his commander's eyes.

" _ **Feemor**_!" Obi-Wan shouted.

All at once, Feemor could hear the burbling of a nearby fountain and the twittering of birdsong, could feeling the tight grip of hands around his biceps and warm stone against his back, could see the wide-eyed fear in his brother-padawan's blue-green eyes.

He gasped in a breath, realised he felt a little lightheaded, and sank back against the stone wall he'd been pressed up against. "It was him," he rasped, and he felt like the entire galaxy had just tilted forty-five degrees, everything just enough off kilter to notice.

"The chancellor? What was him?"

Feemor looked up, into Obi-Wan's wide, scared eyes, swallowed against his too-dry throat, and whispered, "He's the one who ordered my death. He's working for the sith."

.


	5. Now We Are What We Have Become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part of this fic.
> 
> The lineage dinner is a one-shot and will be posting a couple of days after this chapter's up, followed by a one-shot between Dooku and Feemor. (And maybe another one-shot that spawned from a scene in the lineage dinner? That's not done quite yet, so no promises; ACNH has stolen my brain.) Haven't figured out what to fill the 10yr gap between TPM and AotC with, or how, exactly, to handle the clones. We'll just have to wait and see what the muse and characters decide.
> 
> For now, enjoy this chapter. And thank you for all the awesome reviews and kudos and love, y'all are great. :D ♥

Feemor, as it turned out, owed Obi-Wan some serious favours. Because, as soon as he'd realised something was wrong with the elder jedi, he'd politely made their excuses, then hustled Feemor to the first secluded space he could find and did what he could to drag him out of his spiral. Which meant the chancellor very likely had no idea that his voice had caused Feemor to flash back on his future death. (Not that the chancellor would have any idea why that might be important.)

"We need to tell the Council," Feemor said as soon as he'd calmed down enough to think strategically. "We need to start pulling away from the Senate."

"Can't we just, I don't know, call a vote of no confidence on him, like Her Majesty did to oust Valorum?" Obi-Wan asked—almost _pleaded_ —sounding far too young for the burden Feemor had just dropped on his shoulders.

Feemor offered a bitter smile. "That would require the jedi to have a vote in the Senate, and at least enough support to pass that vote, _neither_ of which we have." Or would ever have. "Not to mention, he hasn't even been in office a week, yet; no one would support a vote of no confidence against a man who hasn't even had the _chance_ to kark up."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and visibly gathered himself. " _Can_ we pull apart from the Senate?" he asked quietly. "The Ruusan Reforms tied us to Judicial, and I don't think they're going to just... _let_ us go, not without someone to take our place. Right?"

Feemor grimaced. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know _enough_ to say whether or not we can pull away, or what sort of protections we'll need to put in place if we _can't_." He _did_ know there was a replacement army for the jedi, or there would be, in ten years, and he should probably let the Council know about that. "The _how_ is not our job, little brother. We only need to warn them that danger is coming; the Council will be in charge of deciding how to face it."

"Okay." Obi-Wan took a deep breath in, held it, let it out. "Okay. Then let's go interrupt the Council."

" _Now_ you sound like our master," Feemor told him, and Obi-Wan's responding laugh was a little cracked at the edges, but honest enough.

They made their way back into the palace and through the hallways to the room the Council had claimed. Feemor knocked on the door and stepped back to wait, trying not to fidget.

Tiin opened the door and stared at them for a beat before he sighed and stepped back, holding the door opened for them. "It's your new headache, Mace," he called in warning.

"Kark it, Feemor," Windu cursed, very firmly _not_ looking in their direction.

Obi-Wan shot Feemor a shocked look, apparently unaware Windu was capable of cursing, or some such. (Wait until he found out that Feemor had said, on average, one curse every two years, before the war.)

"Bad omens, you bring?" Master Yaddle asked, her hologram flickering slightly.

"I'm afraid so, Masters," Feemor agreed as he stepped into the centre of the circle of Councillors, Obi-Wan staying close to his shoulder, like he was still a padawan; Feemor suspected it would take him a few months to stop doing that when he was with a knight or master. He opened his mouth to tell them about Palpatine, only to stop, debating how much to tell them, what they'd need to know to believe him.

Obi-Wan had been simple. Feemor said, 'The Chancellor's working with the sith,' and he took it as the truth. The Council wasn't likely to be as easy to convince. They were going to want _proof_. Or, in the absence of proof, a clear enough report to show his mental gymnastics.

"Master Feemor?" Yarael Poof prompted.

Feemor drew in a slow, careful breath. "The, in the future, my memories of it, there's– No. We were...fighting. A war. The Senate put the jedi in charge of the army."

"Army? Where could the Senate get one of those?" Mundi asked thoughtfully.

"That's...complicated. And I don't know the whole of it, wasn't involved. I just, I was told to go, with my me– with my soldiers, and we would clean up after battles. Find survivors, unbury the dead for last rites and burials, clear out any of the remaining enemy the rest of the army missed when they got called away."

"Disheartening, such work sounds," Yaddle murmured, her ears lowered.

Feemor thought of ruined school buildings and streets full of corpses with no one left living to claim them. "Yes," he said quietly.

Obi-Wan shifted forward, his arm coming to rest against Feemor's, and support warmed through their bond, bolstering him.

Feemor drew in another careful breath, let it, and Obi-Wan's brilliant presence next to him, give him the strength to say the hardest part. "We were, we'd just finished up an area, waiting for our next ship out orders. One of my, my soldiers, my direct subordinate, he insisted on breakfast in the mess tent. We'd just got news, a few hours before, that the last of the, of our opponent's military leaders had been killed, so spirits were high.

"I didn't– There was no _warning_. One moment, everything was calm. The next, the Force, it..." He shook his head. "It _screamed_ , Masters. Not like, not like a _warning_ , but like it was in _pain_."

The Councillors traded worried looks, all of them tense and unhappy, but not a one that Feemor could see looked like they didn't believe him.

"When, _during_ , the screaming, I heard a voice, telling Nehu– telling my subordinate to, to 'execute Order Sixty-Six'. I– The V– the soldiers, they'd been trained to follow certain orders, shorthand for battle movements, I guess, but that one... I'd never heard that one before, never seen it in the brief. So I started to ask, and he shot me."

The room was utterly silent, but the Force swirled around them all, sharing echoes of betrayal and grief and fear, lending far more truth to his story than Feemor had meant to, and he wasn't certain how to draw it all back inside, nor how to release it into the Force, let it be swept away from them all.

"A Trial you faced," Yoda said grimly, his ears gone flat, his claws wrapped tight around the handle of his gimer stick. "Greater, and crueller, it was, than any this Council could design."

Feemor swallowed and shook his head. "The voice, the one who gave the order, I didn't recognise it then, but I heard it again just now. Masters, the one who ordered my death was Chancellor Palpatine."

"A dangerous accusation," Oppo Rancisis warned, and Feemor clenched his jaw against the urge to scream.

"Accusation?" Obi-Wan demanded, stepping forward to stand at Feemor's side, still close enough their arms were pressed together. "The Jedi Order gets dragged into a _war_ and told to lead it! We're supposed to be peacekeepers, not warriors! Something is _rotten_ ; why wouldn't it be the man who just got elected to the head of our government is working for the sith?"

"The _sith_?!" Eeth Koth demanded, hologram straightening in the very real chair it was occupying. "Knight Kenobi, you go too far."

"I just _killed one_ ," Obi-Wan shot right back, before it seemed to occur to him that he was _sassing a Councillor_ and he hunched in on himself a bit, pressing closer to Feemor.

"Masters," Feemor said in as firm a voice as he could manage, "the sith _are_ involved. Maul's existence should be proof enough of that, not to mention the darkness permeating the Force. And–" he took a deep breath "–during the war, the leader of the opposition openly called himself a sith. He was _not_ Maul's master, and it was made clear to the Council, at the time, that the sith who trained him was still alive and directing things behind the scenes. There was a rumour, one that started early in the war, that the, that Tyranus' master was somehow directing the actions of the Senate.

"No one believed it, then, because how could one being direct the actions of the _entire_ Senate? Especially without any jedi noticing when they reported to various senators or the chancellor for meetings related to missions and deployments. But, Masters, with the war, with the way the Senate so often gets gridlocked over minor matters, it was believed that the Supreme Chancellor should be granted emergency powers, more and more every month. By the final year of the war, he ran the Senate, and the army, and _the jedi_."

The Council traded uncomfortable looks.

"Say Palpatine _is_ working for—or with—the sith master," Windu said at last, very studiously _not_ looking at Feemor. "What, exactly, are you expecting the Council to do with this information? Without hard proof?"

Feemor straightened, setting his shoulders. "Pull away from the Senate."

Shock and indignation rang in the Force.

Koon let out a humming sound. "So, Knight Kenobi emulates his master, while Master Feemor emulates his grandmaster."

"Master Yan isn't _wrong_ ," Feemor replied, grimacing a bit at the taste of those words on his tongue. "The Senate is a hive of corruption and greed, barely held together by those few among its number who truly want what's best for the sectors and planets they represent. And the Order, acting at the Senate's direction, too often oversee treaty signings and political functions where we aren't necessary, while conflicts that could have been avoided or shortened with our timely intervention result in the deaths of _thousands_. Or, worse, unverified information sent through back channels is taken as trusted fact and leads to a genocide."

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the ground, silencing any retort the Council might have had to that; Galidraan was a sore point, in their lineage especially. He looked tired, old in the way he had during the war, and Feemor swallowed against a knot of grief at the realisation that _he had done this_. He had set this weight on his great-grandmaster's shoulders—on the shoulders of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and the whole rest of the Council—and he _couldn't even regret it_.

"Much to discuss, we have," Yoda said in a firm tone. "Feemor, Obi-Wan, to your reconstruction efforts you should go. Rebuilding, heals the soul, it does," he added with a smile that Feemor suspected was forced, but looked real enough to pass muster.

He bowed, Obi-Wan a beat behind him. "Thank you for your time, Masters," he murmured, and turned to go.

"Master Feemor," Depa Billaba called, and he glanced over at her. She smiled at him and said, "The Force is with us."

Feemor bowed to her, unable to articulate how much of a _reassurance_ that simple phrase was. The Force had sent him back, back to this time, this place, with his memories of tragedy and death. It had sent him to _fix things_ , to right the wrongs they had been blind to for too long.

He wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders as the door of the meeting room fell closed behind him. "Let's go fix something," he said.

Obi-Wan put his arm back around Feemor in return and leant into him, a trickle of hope coming through the bond. "That sounds good," he said, and they quit the palace—leaving behind as much of their concerns about Palpatine, the Council's decisions, and the future as they could—for the rest of the day.

BREAK

The Victory Parade was everything an over the top celebration of freedom _should_ be. The streets were packed, everyone in their finest and most colourful clothing, waving flags and streamers made of some material that caught the light from the sun and dazzled onlookers. Queen Amidala—and it _was_ her, not a decoy—was resplendent in a feathery white gown, the Force alight with happiness and pride around her.

Palpatine was standing with a group of Naboo ministers, the visiting members of the Jedi Council, and Wangui, back from the place of pride, but still very obviously placed to show his importance.

(Okay, Feemor could admit he might just be projecting his suspicions, there. The man _was_ the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, and the former senator for the Chommel Sector, of which Naboo was a member; of course he would have a visible position in the proceedings.)

Feemor, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Skywalker had all been directed to stand further forward, in a place of pride that was meant as a recognition of their part in Naboo's victory. Skywalker had been supplied with the pure white robes of a jedi initiate, and one of the queen's handmaidens had somehow convinced him to cut his hair short, which looked far better than the bowl cut had done.

Someone—Feemor suspected his former master—had managed to convince the palace staff to find them all _undyed_ tunics, so Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan were all dressed in the brown robes over bland beige tunics and tabards over dark leggings that most people associated with the jedi. (As much as Feemor had wanted to rebel by wearing one of the orange tunics in the wardrobe in his room, he understood the point of showing a united front, especially given his most recent conversation with the Council, and had even talked Wangui, who also hated the lack of colour in conventional jedi wear, into leaving her orange tabards behind for the parade.)

Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan had all arrayed themselves around Skywalker, a little bit like an honour guard. Partially to keep him safe—Feemor had told his former master about Palpatine as soon as he'd been able to get the man alone, and he knew they were all even more wary about leaving the boy unattended, now they knew the sith master's ally/servant was so close—and partially to keep him from wandering; he'd already complained about being bored once, while they'd waited for the Gungans to make their way up from the city gates.

(Qui-Gon kept trying to convince Feemor that Skywalker had been much better behaved before he'd tagged along. Feemor held to it that the boy had probably just been nervous and probably a little intimidated before he'd seen Qui-Gon getting yelled at for being a complete _idiot_ , and realised that the three jedi were as human as him.)

Once the Gungans came through the ceremonial arch and Boss Nass stepped up to take the Globe of Peace, the public part of the ceremony was essentially over. Qui-Gon, Feemor, and Obi-Wan followed the two Naboo rulers and their entourages into the palace, having been requested to serve as witnesses in the signing of the more formal declaration of peace and alliance between the two species. Wangui slipped in at Feemor's elbow almost as soon as they'd entered the palace, doing a very good impression of a serious, well-behaved young woman.

Skywalker, much to his apparent displeasure, was stolen away by Yoda before they made it to the room the formal treaty signing would take place in (the troll had decided that it was his job to catch the boy up on crèche studies before they returned to Temple). Mundi and Tiin remained with the Chancellor's party, joining them in the room for the formalities, while the rest of the Council vanished. (Feemor assumed they were either communicating with their fellows on Coruscant, or preparing things for leaving that evening; the Chancellor had apparently apologised to Amidala over breakfast that he couldn't remain any longer, and since the Council had come on his ship, all of the jedi would be leaving with him.)

The Gungans and humans had already done their minor quibbling over the wording of the treaty, so the signing was quick and as light-hearted as the parade had been, Nass' booming laughter filling the room at something the queen murmured.

Before they could make their escape to pack, one of the handmaidens motioned for the four jedi to stay a moment.

Amidala did a quick circuit of the various ministers and dignitaries, then approached them with a faint, almost fond smile. Once they'd bowed to her, she said, "Masters jedi, as we have said it before, we will say again: _Thank you_. Naboo—humans and Gungans—owe you a debt for your part in our freedom. Should ever you find yourselves in need, know you have friends, a bed, and a hot meal here." Her gaze flicked to Wangui, and she added, "And you, Padawan Wangui."

Wangui's delight was a nova-burst in the Force, even as she followed Feemor, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan's example of responding with a bow.

"We will always be grateful to have assisted the Naboo," Qui-Gon said for all of them, "and we have little doubt you will have been victorious on your own; you are a brave and true leader, Your Majesty. As they are to have you, Boss Nass," he added as the gungan leader approached.

"Isa no falling for yousa fancy speakings thisa time, Masta Jinn," Nass warned, though he was grinning.

_That_ sounded like a story.

Qui-Gon simply bowed in response, and the gungan chuckled before settling himself in a more serious manner. "Jedi, mesa have learnen, maken very bad enemies, but very good friends. Gungans are same."

Qui-Gon's moustache twitched. "It does appear that way," he agreed mildly. "Perhaps it would be best for both of us to be friends."

Nass grinned at him. "Isa thinken so, too," he agreed, and then clapped Qui-Gon hard on the shoulder. "But, Masta Jinn, friends no usen mind tricks."

Obi-Wan coughed, amusement flickering around him in the Force.

"No more mind tricks, I promise," Qui-Gon replied.

Nass watched him for a moment, then nodded and left them to go speak with another Gungan who was trying to get his attention.

Amidala's mouth had turned up with a small, amused smile during the interaction. "We hope your trip back to Coruscant goes smoothly," she offered.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." They all bowed to her, and she let herself be drawn away to a conversation with Palpatine by one of her handmaidens.

Wangui waited until they had left the room and started back to their suite before informing Feemor, "I want to be like _her_ when I grow up, Master."

"And here I thought you wanted to be a jedi," Feemor replied mildly.

"You know what I mean!"

Feemor chuckled, inclining his head; Queen Amidala certainly had a degree of poise and gentle strength that would appeal to his padawan.

"You realise, Padawan, that you're already the same age as Queen Amidala," Qui-Gon commented.

Feemor blinked. He'd known the queen was young—the makeup disguised a lot, including the wearer's age, but he'd seen her out of it—but he hadn't realised _how_ young.

"She is not," Wangui returned.

"I'm afraid she is," Obi-Wan correlated.

Wangui let out a pitiful moan and drooped.

Feemor chuckled at her dramatics and reached over to tug gently on her padawan braid. "I, for one, like you quite the way you are, my precious padawan, and I'm sure Her Majesty would say the same."

Wangui flushed plum and offered him a shy smile. "I'm not so sure about that last, Master, but...thank you."

Feemor didn't try arguing with her about it; his padawan would learn in her own time how amazing a woman she could become.

BREAK

"Master Feemor," Palpatine called from behind him, and Feemor let himself close his eyes in defeat, "you are a remarkably difficult man to catch up."

Feemor pasted on the politely blanked expression he had shaped for dealing with exceptionally difficult politicians as he turned and gave a bow of greeting. "I'm afraid that's one of the dangers of having a padawan, Chancellor," he replied.

Palpatine's smile was as genial as Feemor recalled it being from the many, _many_ public speeches he'd given over the years of the war (both those speeches praising the jedi and the Vode, and those castigating them), and Feemor struggled with the urge to punch that expression from his face. "Yes," he said, tone inviting Feemor to join in the joke, "I imagine caring for such an excitable child would be time consuming. I can't imagine how you manage."

"Our young are our future, Chancellor. To guide them along their path is an honour and a joy," Feemor returned stiffly.

Palpatine blinked. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to overstep. Your padawan seems to be a singularly bright and loyal girl; she was quite worried about you on our trip to Naboo."

_Stay_ **away** _from my padawan!_ Feemor wanted to snarl, but he swallowed the reaction down and inclined his head. "Yes, I suspect the Naboo healers underestimated how quickly a jedi can heal."

Palpatine smiled that genial smile again. "So it seems. It was a relief to all of us, I'm sure, to see you standing and moving without assistance upon our arrival."

"As it was a relief to me; it's no comfortable thing, being burnt by a lightsabre." He inclined his head. "Was there something you needed of me, Chancellor? Or was this simply an opportunity you couldn't refuse, to finally converse with an elusive prey?" he asked mildly, forcing back a wince as he realised how telling his word choice might be.

The chancellor chuckled. "I admit that I was a little curious if I might actually manage to have a proper conversation with you. However–" his smile dimmed slightly, taking on a more serious air "–it did occur to me, hearing about how Master Jinn was so indispensable in the wording of both the treaty between Naboo and the Trade Federation, and between the Naboo and the Gungans, that I have been ignoring a resource during my time in the Senate. I understand that you're one of the vaunted jedi ambassadors, and I wonder if you wouldn't agree to serve as my personal advisor."

...what?

"I...admit that I'm not quite certain how to respond, Chancellor," Feemor managed to get out in a steady voice.

Palpatine smiled his genial smile again, warm and friendly, and promised, "You needn't respond right now, of course. I understand you might have other responsibilities that might make such a position more of a burden than an honour. However, given your part in the protection and freeing of my people, I'm certain you'll provide the steady, honest voice I—and the Senate—need as we work to clean up the corruption that has made such a tragedy possible."

If Feemor were a less jaded man—if he hadn't struggled through literal warzones and been killed on _this man's_ order—he might have been swayed by his words and the easy, friendly manner he wore around himself. As he'd been at this point in his life originally—disgraced, clinging to the lineage he'd started to build from the ashes of what he _should_ have had, and grieving for the loss of the master who he'd believed hadn't wanted him—he very likely would have jumped at this opportunity to make something of himself, to be other than just another faceless member among the many and more distinguished jedi consulars.

But Feemor was _not_ that man, and he knew that Palpatine was a snake lying in the shade of flowers, waiting to do the biding of the sith master holding his strings. He didn't trust him, and he didn't trust his motives.

And yet, was it not _because_ he didn't trust him— _knew_ he was dangerous—that he should take the position? Keep as close an eye as possible on the enemy he _knew_ , in hopes that he might lead him to the enemy waiting still in the shadows?

He'd never been one for the sort of subterfuge he suspected he would need to discover and pre-empt whatever danger Palpatine and his puppet master had waiting in the wings. This was more Rún's forte.

(And he was finally starting to understand why his friend had sworn she would never take on a padawan; could he stomach bringing Wangui into constant contact with someone being influenced by the sith? Did he dare endanger her that way? And, if he did, how much of the truth should he tell her? She was strong and brave, but she was still just a girl, growing into the self-assured woman he knew she would become, but still so vulnerable to the poison-laced honey the Senate was rife with.)

"I am...extremely honoured by the offer," he said in as steady a voice as he could manage. "However, it's something I would have to discuss with my padawan, and, unfortunately, such appointments are always at the discretion of the Council."

"I have every faith that the Jedi Council will agree that you're suited to the job," Palpatine assured him, "but I understand you must put your padawan first. Do give my best to her, and let me know what you both decide."

Feemor bowed. "Of course, Chancellor," he agreed, and took the opening to turn and walk as sedately as he could down to the room his former master was sharing with Obi-Wan and Skywalker. He could sense Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan within, while Skywalker was a brilliant presence at the other end of the ship, likely suffering more of Yoda's tutelage. (Or, potentially, making friends with the ship's array of droids; Wangui had mentioned something about there being an especially mouthy one who reminded her of R2-D2.)

Obi-Wan opened the door before he could knock, his expression twisted with concern. "Feemor?"

"Can I come in?' Feemor asked quietly, and Obi-Wan immediately stepped back to give him space. Throwing all thoughts of decorum out the airlock, Feemor walked over to where Qui-Gon was sitting in his meditation position on the floor, eyes open and watching him with concern, and knelt next to him, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his former master's chest.

"Feemor? Padawan, what's wrong?" Qui-Gon requested, one hand coming to rest on his nape, the other on his shoulder.

"Palpatine asked me to serve as his advisor," Feemor said, the words shaky, too small from being forced out past the blockage of uncertainty and fear clogging his throat.

Obi-Wan dropped down to the floor next to him with a loud exhalation of breath, while Qui-Gon's hands tightened. "He _what_?" Obi-Wan breathed. "Can he– Is that something he can do? Request a jedi to advise him in Senate matters?"

"Serving as advisors to members of the Senate, as requested, are one of the duties of the jedi ambassadors," Qui-Gon murmured in his teaching voice, and hearing the familiar cadence soothed some of Feemor's turmoil. "The duty of serving as advisor to the Chancellor, however, usually falls to a member of the Council; Adi served as Valorum's advisor."

"But what if we start to pull away from the Senate?" Obi-Wan asked, even as he shuffled a little closer to Feemor, his knee coming to rest against his thigh, and rested a hand against the middle of Feemor's back, over the centre of the lightsabre scar.

Feemor sighed and shook his head, even as Qui-Gon replied, "Separating ourselves from the Senate and Judicial is best done slowly, over the course of many years."

"Why? To avoid backlash?"

"In part, yes. But, also, because neither the Order, nor Judicial, are truly prepared for the complete severance that will be necessary to remove us as fully from the Senate's oversight as will be necessary to avoid being forced into the position of leading an army in war.

"Until that point, we will have to continue to act at the Senate's directions, if only to keep the sith master and those he controls from realising our intentions and working to stop us. That will mean that someone will have to serve as Palpatine's advisor, and we will continue being sent on the diplomatic and peacekeeping missions that the Senate believes are the most necessary."

Feemor couldn't quite stop a snort at the bitterness in Qui-Gon's voice. "You're starting to sound like Master Yan," he warned.

Qui-Gon sighed, thumb rubbing comfortingly against the shorter hairs at the back of Feemor's head. "As much as it pains me to admit, Yan is right. We're doing the galaxy no favours, being beholden to the whims of the Senate. If Finis hadn't stepped in and sent Obi-Wan and myself to Naboo, it very likely would have ended in many more deaths than it did, and a treaty signed in the Trade Federation's favour."

"You don't bring an army, unless you're planning to use it," Feemor added quietly, sensing Obi-Wan's scepticism at the suggestion that even more of the Naboo—humans and Gungans—would have died without their intervention.

Obi-Wan drew in a sharp breath, and Feemor suspected he was remembering that he'd led part of an army, himself, and had been speaking from hard-won experience.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Unfortunately, Feemor, I can't advise you on the best course to follow. My heart says to keep you as far from Palpatine as possible, but my sense says you may be one of the best equipped to keep an eye on him."

Feemor choked out a laugh. "I know. I wasn't really looking for guidance, just..."

"Just me," Qui-Gon finished quietly, and shifted his hold to pull Feemor into a hug, his Force presence a familiar cocoon of pride and affection.

Feemor squeezed his eyes shut and let himself cling to his former master, just for a moment, just long enough to rebalance his centre and siphon the worst of his tumultuous emotions off into the Force.

As he pulled back, twisting so he was kneeling perpendicular to the other two, Qui-Gon murmured, "I'm sorry, Feemor."

"I know." Feemor sighed and ran a tired hand down his face. "I...don't know what to do about Wangui," he admitted, and Obi-Wan stiffened, while Qui-Gon's mouth pressed thin. "I'm not comfortable with the idea of having her so close to someone answering to the sith, especially while unaware of the danger, but I'm not certain she'll be able to hide her knowledge in Palpatine's presence, once she knows. And I fear that simply refusing to allow her to accompany me, without explaining why, will do her far more harm than telling her the truth."

"So tell her," Obi-Wan said, like it was _simple_. "She can stay with one of us, or one of your friends, when you need to go to the Senate. If anyone in the Senate asks, you can just say she had a class or an assignment she needed to work on."

Qui-Gon hummed an agreement. "She has only just discovered her lineage is more extensive than she had believed; it wouldn't be unheard of for you to leave her with myself, Yan, or Obi-Wan, so she can learn more about what she's been missing, and perhaps learn some skills that you mightn't have thought or been comfortable enough with to pass on."

Feemor stared down at where his hands were worrying the ends of his sleeves in his lap, not really seeing them as he weighed the ideas proposed. They were all excellent suggestions to explain why his padawan wasn't attending the Senate with him, and he was far more comfortable with the idea of leaving her with a member of their lineage or one of his friends, knowing she understood _why_ he'd preferred to leave her behind, than upset because he wouldn't tell her why, or bringing her, all unknowing, to visit someone would could influence her in damaging ways.

(And he didn't doubt that Palpatine would attempt to influence her, not after the way he'd been wording things while speaking to Feemor: Complimenting Wangui once he realised Feemor didn't appreciate any suggestion that she wasn't important, suggesting that the position as the chancellor's advisor would be an honour and that saying no would imply it was a burden, complimenting his integrity and decrying the Senate's in the same breath, implying that the Council would be fools to refuse Feemor the position, even closing with a well wishing for Wangui, proving he'd understood that she was extremely important to him. It had been a subtle manipulation—made more so by the friendly air he wore about himself like a cloak—which only made it that much more dangerous, especially to someone as young and willing to please as Wangui.)

"None of this will matter," he murmured, "if the Council prefers to send one of their own number to advise him."

"That is true," Qui-Gon agreed. "However, before you leave to further Mace's headache, would you like to join us in meditating?"

Feemor was feeling sufficiently settled to get by without meditating, but he wasn't about to say no to spending time his his former master and brother-padawan. "I would enjoy that very much," he replied, and both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan smiled, before they all closed their eyes to meditate, dropping back into the Force and finding what comfort they could in it and in each other.

BREAK

The Council very obviously didn't like the idea of sending him to serve as Palpatine's advisor, Windu eventually admitting, "You are clearly in need of a mind healer, Feemor, and probably a year or two of light missions and a holiday."

"We don't have that kind of time," Feemor returned, feeling tired. They hadn't had it during the war, either; no time for holidays, no light mission loads, barely enough time to visit the mind healers once every three months. Force, they'd barely had the time to get healed of injuries that usually would have seen them Temple-locked for months.

"Time is not the issue," Mundi returned. "While your foreknowledge is an impressive and—by all appearances—much needed boon, a written report of everything you recall will serve us just as well as having you guide our actions in person. You are not so invaluable that we cannot make do without you."

Feemor barely managed to stop a wince; he recognised that the Cerean master hadn't meant that _cruelly_ , probably hadn't even processed the emotional impact of the words, but that didn't stop the blow from landing.

"However," Mundi continued, "you are uniquely qualified to serve as Chancellor Palpatine's advisor. Not only are you more familiar with him and his policies than anyone else in the Order, he is familiar enough with you to request you."

"In the past," Piell interrupted, "when a newly elected chancellor with little to no contact with the Order during their previous Senate term requests a specific jedi, we do our best to honour that request, for the sake of the Order's relationship with the chancellor. If the requested jedi doesn't have consular training, or doesn't have the experience to act as an advisor to the leader of the senate, we pair them with a member of the Council or, when none of us are available, with a senior ambassador.

"Neither of these things are true, in your case. You have over two decades of exemplary service as a diplomat and ambassador, are known for keeping a cool head when tempers flare, and are apparently the most popular jedi among the Senate staff and younger diplomats; if the Council refused you this appointment, we would have to have a _very_ good reason."

"Which isn't to say you cannot decide to say no of your own accord," Koon added, and Piell inclined his head towards him.

Windu took a deep breath, then looked up and met Feemor's eyes for the first time since he'd woken in the archives. "Feemor, it's your choice; what do _you_ want to do?"

What did he want to do? He wanted to go back to meditating with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, where he'd felt safer than he could honestly remember ever feeling. He wanted to be in the cargo hold, walking Wangui through her katas and let her introduce him to all of her new droid friends with Skywalker. He wanted to be home, in the Temple, sharing a dinner with the whole of his lineage, that once-impossible dream that was finally in his grasp. He wanted to sit in the Garden of a Thousand Fountains with Kei and Roimata and Rún and share all manner of gossip.

He wanted to not have the sith around, to have decades of peace ahead of them to look forward to. He was so _tired_ of war and loss, of the constant weight of the darkness in the Force suffocating him.

He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and met Windu's stare. "I'll take the position," he said, voice as firm and certain as every time he'd had to make the hard choice during the war. "But I need the Council to back me if anyone questions why I'm leaving Wangui in the Temple."

" _Done_ ," Windu agreed, the word coming out with such force, Feemor suspected he would have had to fight the Council if he _hadn't_ decided to keep his padawan away from Palpatine.

"What do you intend to tell her?" Piell asked. "You have never made a habit of leaving your padawans behind, even after Knight Kudzulek's rather...juvenile reaction to Senator Esper's, I believe it was, comment on their piloting skills."

Feemor closed his eyes against the memory of his first padawan's decision throw the senator in question over their shoulder, carry him to the Temple speeder they'd borrowed for the day, and then crash it through the window of the senator's office. "Please don't remind me. We're both still banned from Meshakia."

"I had no idea Meshakians had such long memories," Windu commented.

"It's not about the memory, it's about the _grudge_ ," Feemor explained, and thought, for a moment, that Windu's mouth might have twitched like he was going to smile. He shook his head, refocussing his thoughts on the original question. "Wangui already knows I had some sort of vision of future events. Facing Maul on Naboo lends more than enough credence to the validity of the vision, even if certain crèchemates of mine are unlikely to stop quibbling over the possibility of me getting a _vision_. I intend to tell her that one of the things the vision hinted at is that our newly elected chancellor is answering to the sith. And I need to know she's safe, so I can focus on finding the evidence to lead us to the sith."

"Will she remain quietly in the Temple if she knows you're putting yourself in danger?" Mundi asked.

Feemor shrugged. "For now. I expect that, in a couple years, after she feels herself a capable enough duellist, I'll have a fight on my hands. But I'll plan that jump when I reach it; I suspect she won't quite grow up into the young woman whose braid I cut," he added a bit helplessly. After all, that Wangui had never been left in the Temple while he advised the chancellor, and nor had she been able to count two of the greatest duellists of their generation among her lineage. Three, if Yan decided to stay and train her in Makashi.

Force help him, he was in danger of having a master duellist as a padawan.

Mundi blinked. "Of course."

"Feemor," Windu called, and when Feemor refocussed on him, he found the Head of the Council refusing to look at him again, not that he really blamed the man. "The Council will handle informing the chancellor that you'll be serving as his advisor. However, due to the fact that you're only recently returned from a mission, during which you were wounded, you've been confined to the Halls of Healing for a week." He raised his eyebrows at the wall. "I don't expect the healers to be able to keep you in the Halls for more than a day, if that, so use that week wisely and _get some damn rest_."

Feemor chuckled and bowed. "Thank you, Master Windu."

"You're welcome. Now, get out."

Feemor left and went in hunt of his padawan. He had no intention to tell her about Palpatine until they were safely in their quarters in the Temple, but that didn't mean he couldn't spend time with her.

BREAK

Given how he'd left and that he'd been wounded while on Naboo, Feemor supposed he shouldn't, really, have been surprised to find a small crowd waiting for them by the doors of the speeder bay. Truthfully, he'd mostly expected Kei, since his friend only rarely left the Temple, but Ace and Vega were a welcome surprise.

"Hello, my most troublesome former padawan," Feemor greeted as Ace stalked up to them.

"How broken is he?" they demanded of Wangui.

She shrugged. "It looks _nasty_ , but Ani says he got in a bacta tank, so he's healed."

Ace blinked. "Who the kark is Ani?"

"Me!" Skywalker chirped from where Qui-Gon was attempting to keep tabs on him. (Obi-Wan had abandoned them in favour of his own small crowd of waiting friends.)

Ace's expression went _cold_. "Master Jinn," they said icily, and gave a jerky bow.

Feemor sighed and tugged his first padawan into a hug.

"Yes," Qui-Gon commented mildly, "this lineage dinner is going to be interesting. Knight Kimura," he added as Kei and Vega made their way over.

Kei looked Qui-Gon up and down once, then very pointedly turned to Feemor and said, "You missed Rún, but she said you owe her a round in the salles when she gets back."

Feemor hummed, suspecting Rún might not find beating him quite so easy as she was used to. "Are you ready to be civil?" he asked Ace when they tried to pull out of the hug, refusing to let go.

Ace snarled, but relaxed against Feemor and finally returned the hug.

Feemor smiled down at his grandpadawan while her master grumbled unpleasantness in Bocce against his shoulder. "Hello, Vega. When did you two return to Temple?"

She shrugged as she reached out and traded a fist bump with Wangui; she'd never been comfortable with a great deal of physical contact, so she and her agemates—she and Wangui were only two years apart, and while they hadn't been friends in the crèche or as initiates, they'd developed into good friends since Feemor had taken Wangui as his padawan—had settled on fist bumps in lieu of more physical greetings. "Yesterday. Master's been fuming since Wangui comm'd him, though. Guess that was right after you pulled a disappearing act."

"Ah. My apologies."

"Where's _my_ apology?" Ace grumbled.

Feemor shook his head and finally let his former padawan go, catching their shoulders before they could escape completely. "I'm sorry I worried you, Ace," he said, completely honest. "That was never my intention."

Ace deflated. "Yeah, okay. Accepted."

"You do _not_ get to punch your grandmaster," Feemor added.

"Wait," Vega called as Ace let out a disgruntled sound and cast Qui-Gon a glare, "I thought Master Je'dyannder was dead?"

Wangui snickered. "That's what _I_ said."

Feemor sighed and looked over at his former master, who offered a slightly helpless, pained smile in return. Next to him Skywalker was looking more than a little lost. "Vega, this is my master—my _second_ master, the one who saw me through my Trials—Qui-Gon Jinn."

Vega leant around her master and stared at Qui-Gon for a moment, then proceeded to punch Ace in the side, hard enough they let out a wheeze and flinched. "When the kriffing hell were you planning to tell me we have one of the _best duellists in the Order_ in our lineage?"

"How about _never_ , since he's–"

Feemor pulled his former padawan back into a hug, and Ace went back to grumbling against his shoulder. "Master, I think you remember Ace."

"Better and better as they come up with less and less plausible threats," Qui-Gon agreed wryly.

Ace, apparently surprised that Qui-Gon both understood Bocce and had _excellent_ hearing, shut up.

Feemor snorted and rubbed Ace's back. "This is Vega Naidu, their padawan."

Qui-Gon smiled. "Hello, Padawan Naidu."

She tilted her head, considering him. "There's a story here, and I probably won't like it."

"An astute observation," Qui-Gon agreed. Then he glanced down and ruffled Skywalker's hair, startling him out of his pout. "I should take Ani to the initiate dorms."

Feemor held up a finger to request he wait a moment, then asked, "Ace, are you capable of greeting your grandmaster without insulting him?"

"...do I have to have dinner with him?" Ace grumbled.

"Yes."

"Then, no."

Feemor sighed and shook his head. "Anakin, I'll come down and see you in a day or two, once you've had the chance to settle in, if that's okay?"

Skywalker's face lit up. "Yeah!"

"And I'll come visit as soon as I can convince R1 to sneak away with me," Wangui added.

" _Excuse you_ , little sister," Ace called, twisting in Feemor's hold so they could scowl down at her without actually loosing contact, which told Feemor—if he hadn't already figured it out based on how Ace wasn't actively fighting him to escape like they'd normally do—that his former padawan was not handling either the return of their grandmaster, or Feemor vanishing and then getting wounded, well at _all_. "I don't remember giving you permission to steal my droid."

"R1 is their own being and perfectly capable of deciding they like me more than you," Wangui informed them.

"Which they do," Vega added before her master could start arguing about who was their droid's favourite.

"Couldn't you have picked a _different_ padawan, Master?" Ace complained. "This one's rude."

Feemor sighed and looked to his former master, who was doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement. "As it turns out, Master," he said drily, "I _do_ understand why you tried to keep Xanatos and I apart as much as possible."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I'm afraid I was more worried about you finally punching him, than any amount of bickering."

"Little bastard would have deserved it," Kei snapped, turning a glare on Qui-Gon. "Maybe, if he'd had his nose broken a time or three, he wouldn't have tried to, I don't know, _blow up the Temple_."

A very loud, strained silence fell over all of them, Ace's hands tightening in Feemor's cloak, while Vega wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at the ground; she had been one of the younglings trapped in the turbolift over the Room of a Thousand Fountains during Xanatos' reign of terror, and Feemor knew she still woke from occasional nightmares about it and struggled with a fear of enclosed spaces.

Into the silence, a male voice said, "Pretty sure Xanatos had the facial disfiguration bit sorted out all on his own. There were way better places to punch him; which, related, why are we punching a dead man? No offence, Master Jinn."

"None taken, Padawan Muln," Qui-Gon replied in a tired tone, as a young human man, a young Mon Calamari woman, and Obi-Wan stepped around Kei to join the group.

"Qui-Gon was just leaving with Anakin," Feemor commented, turning a flat stare on Kei.

"Yes, the sooner you get settled, the sooner you can start making friends and plotting against stodgy old masters," Obi-Wan agreed, winking at Skywalker, who beamed at him and gave a vigorous nod.

"An excellent point," Qui-Gon agreed, and took the opening to escape.

"Kei, that was uncalled for," Feemor said once his former master and his young charge had left.

Kei very pointedly ignored him, instead turning to look over the new arrivals. "Hm. Ace's rival, pretty boy, and the water girl," he said.

"Thought I heard you, Muln," Ace called without moving from Feemor's hold; Feemor was honestly starting to get a little worried.

"Wait, hold the kriffing comm!" Kei was staring at Obi-Wan, who had pinked slightly. "Where's you braid? Fee, what happened to his braid?"

Feemor turned his gaze up to the ceiling of the hanger.

"The...Council decided I'd passed my Trials?" Obi-Wan said a little uncertainly.

" _Fee_ ," Kei stressed.

"He killed a sith," Feemor informed his friend drily. "In what galaxy _wouldn't_ that count as passing your Knighthood Trials?" He turned to Obi-Wan. "The idiot is Kei; I've already apologised."

"Apologised for what?" Kei demanded.

Obi-Wan let out a quiet laugh and agreed, "I remember."

"The leech is Knight Ace Kudzulek, and this is Padawan Vega Naidu," he finished, motioning to his grandpadawan.

Vega, unexpectedly, walked up to Obi-Wan and said, "Thank you," then gave him a quick hug before beating a strategic retreat behind Feemor and Ace.

Obi-Wan looked completely flummoxed. "I– You're...welcome? Why?" he asked, looking at Feemor.

Ace, finally, tugged away from Feemor, who let them go without complaint, and turned to face Obi-Wan. "You carried her to safety twelve years ago," they explained quietly.

Obi-Wan blinked once, twice, and then his eyes went wide. " _Oh_. The, the turbolift." He swallowed and shook his head. "You're very welcome, Vega, and I'm delighted to see you well, but I didn't do it alone. Master—Qui-Gon—he helped, too, taking the younglings on the catwalk and getting them downstairs, and the Councillors held the turbolift and the shaft steady. And Bant–" he motioned to the Mon Calamari, whose cheeks darkened "–she's the one who ran to get the masters."

Vega took a breath and stepped out from behind Feemor, looking so very young it _hurt_. "But, you're the one I remember," she said. "You were, were _light_. You carried me out of the dark."

Feemor doubted Obi-Wan really understood how important light was to Vega, who was a Zelosian, a sentient plant species, but he seemed to understand the gist, at least, because he bowed to her and said, "I'm glad, then, that I was there."

Vega smiled. "Me, too."

Obi-Wan looked up at Feemor, once it became clear that was all Vega wanted or needed to say. "These are two of my friends, Bant Eerin and Garen Muln. Bant, Garen, this is Master Feemor. He was Qui-Gon's first padawan."

"I thought _Xanatos_ was his first padawan," Muln said.

"Fortunately, no," Feemor said drily. "I don't want to know how much more of a wreck Qui-Gon would have been after Xanatos' Fall if he'd been his first."

"Dunno, would've saved the rest of us some grief," Kei muttered.

Feemor turned an unimpressed stare on his friend, then narrowed his eyes as it occurred to him that someone was missing. "Knight Kimura," he said flatly, and Kei flinched, because Feemor only called him that when he was in trouble, "I sincerely hope your padawan isn't wearing your armour right now."

Kei cleared his throat, starting to look just a _little_ uncomfortable. "I should...probably go check on that."

"Yes, you probably should."

Kei beat a hasty retreat, while Feemor turned a raised eyebrow on Vega; she was good friends with Kei's padawan, Marcus—Mac to his crèchemates—and usually knew how the boy was planning to get back at his master for his latest stunt.

She flashed him a smirk. "Mac was going to add dye to the guard showers and let everyone blame Master Kei."

"It would serve him right," Feemor muttered, while everyone else made noises of amusement. "I swear, ever since Marcus hit his last growth spurt, he spends more time in that armour than Kei does."

"Joke's on Kei; there's no way Marcus is done growing," Ace pointed out. "He'll be taller than his master soon enough."

"What a tragedy," Feemor deadpanned.

Wangui snorted as she came up and wrapped both hands around his. "Okay, Master, you've met Obi-Wan's friends. Now you need to go to the Halls."

Ace spun around so fast they wobbled slightly. "You said he's not broken!"

"I'm _not_ ," Feemor insisted. "I am _fine_."

"Okay, yeah, I can see the resemblance, now," Eerin said, and Obi-Wan let out a long-suffering sigh.

"He's not _broken_ ," Wangui promised. "Master Che is just _terrifying_." She gave a dramatic little shudder. "She comm'd the ship almost as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace and made him promise to come see her first thing."

"I don't even know _why_ ," Feemor muttered, still annoyed about the whole thing. When Windu had told him he was going to use being trapped in the Halls as an excuse as to why he couldn't immediately start working with Palpatine, he hadn't intended to make it _fact_. "I was cleared by the Naboo medics nearly a week ago."

Wangui nodded to the stare Ace turned on her. "He was up and waiting for us when the ship landed; I _did_ say bacta was involved."

"Still not sure I believe it," Ace muttered, then raised their voice to say, "You take your bags, I'll take our master."

"Agreed."

Feemor sighed and looked over at where his brother-padawan was _clearly_ enjoying the spectacle. "Let me know if you need help moving to new rooms, little brother."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. "Sure. If Master Che doesn't strap you to a bed and sedate you."

"Speaking from experience?" Feemor asked sweetly.

"Yes," Eerin interrupted before Obi-Wan could respond. "Yes, he is. Does _everyone_ in your lineage avoid the Halls?"

"No," Ace and Wangui said, nearly simultaneously.

"Only Qui-Gon and those of us trained by him," Feemor admitted. "Xanatos hated healers, too."

Obi-Wan got a constipated look on his face. "I'm not certain I wanted to know I have that in common with him," he muttered.

Feemor chuckled.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Once you're free of Master Che, let Master know, so you can work out the night for dinner."

"I will," Feemor promised. "And, yes, you have to come, Ace."

Ace huffed at him and grabbed his arm, using it to pull him towards the doors. "Halls of Healing, Master, let's go. Bye, Uncle Obi-Wan!"

" _What_?!" Obi-Wan yelped from behind them, while the four padawans broke out in laughter.

Feemor chuckled at the vaguely horrified shock he sensed from his brother-padawan and didn't bother fighting Ace, beyond speeding up a bit so they were walking side-by-side, rather than him being dragged. When Ace just wrapped their arm around his a little bit more, he sighed. "Do we need to talk?"

"No."

"Ace."

Ace pressed their lips into a thin line and kept staring ahead.

Master Che was waiting for them in the Halls. "You're late, Master Feemor," she informed him.

"I had a welcoming party," Feemor replied drily.

Master Che glanced at Ace, who was still practically hugging his arm, and hummed. "Come along. I want to see how bad it is. And I'm running your neurochemistry again."

Feemor grimaced, but didn't argue.

Ace finally let him go so he could disrobe, standing back out of the way and clutching Feemor's robe like it was a security blanket.

"This has healed remarkably well," Master Che said, her fingers lightly skimming over the long scar Maul had gifted him. "Who used the Force healing, Master Jinn?"

"I did," Feemor admitted.

She was still for a long moment, then stepped around him to consider him with a narrow-eyed look. "Lie down," she ordered, instead of asking any questions about _how_ he'd suddenly excelled at Force healing, and he wondered what the Council had told her, if anything.

She had the computer run the scan once he was lying down, tutted at the results, and said, "I'll be back. You can get dressed, but if you leave this room before I release you, I will track you down, sedate you, and drop you into a bacta tank until it's needed for someone else."

Feemor grimaced as he ducked his head. "Yes, Master Che," he agreed, and she left with an irritated noise. Sighing to himself, Feemor pushed himself back up to a sitting position and reached for his undertunic. Before he could do much more than get a finger on it, however, Ace was next to him again, their hand tracing over his back.

When he glanced over his shoulder, he found terror and grief writ across his former padawan's face. "Ace," he said quietly, "I need you to talk to me."

"Why _him_?" Ace asked, their voice quiet and small. "All he ever did was _hurt you_. Why would you– Why did you _risk your life_ for him?"

Feemor closed his eyes and let out a slow, pained breath. He'd only just taken Ace as his padawan two days before Qui-Gon comm'd the Council and declared that he had no padawans, then vanished. It should have been a happy time, but Feemor had spent months struggling with depression and his insomnia, instead, while Ace tried desperately to keep their new master from crashing and burning.

"Because he's my master," he replied quietly. "It never would have hurt if I didn't love him."

Ace let out an angry sob and hugged Feemor from behind, pressing their face into the crook of his neck and clinging to him.

"And for Obi-Wan," Feemor added as he covered Ace's arms over his chest with his own, because it was true. "I don't need Qui-Gon, not any more, but he does."

"He has _us_ ," Ace said, the words bitter.

"He does now," Feemor agreed. "But a sibling is not a master, especially when you've only just met them." He squeezed Ace's hand. "What's done is done, and I'm here now. Alive. Safe. I'm not leaving you, Padawan."

Ace tightened their grip.

Feemor sighed. "I know you despise him, but could you give him a chance? For me?"

Ace was silent for a long, weighted moment, then they agreed, "One chance."

"Thank you. Now, do you think you can let me get dressed?"

"No."

Feemor sighed again. "You may as well come back in, Master Che. It seems I'm stuck for a while."

Master Che's smile, as she came back into the room, was _not_ comforting. "In that case, Master Feemor, there are some other tests I'd like to run."

Feemor closed his eyes and squeezed Ace's hand again when they let out a near-silent sniffle into his neck, resigning himself to being trapped for a while. "If you can run them without upsetting Ace," he agreed tiredly.

Master Che _grinned_ , showing her sharp teeth, and Feemor had a sinking feeling he was going to regret this.

Oh, well.

For the sake of his padawans and grandpadawan, for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, for his _family_ —alive; whole; _here_ —there was very little he wouldn't suffer, not now that he knew how it felt to lose them.

.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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